We spend our human life
in a state of delay.
Always fitting in the joy,
rarely fitting in the play.
With our passions as bookends
to our morning, noon, and night.
We struggle just to find the hours
to keep our soul alight.
Hating half the clock face,
just a moment in the whole.
These seconds are our freedom,
but it's burned down to the coals.
So we blow and we blow,
feeding life back to our souls,
and we marvel at the glow
that's left.
Isn't it crazy
how we are haunted by memory
when the last thing we want
is to forget?
And it doesn't matter
how much you distract
how much you think you regret
You'll still be haunted
by pain fading slowly
with an end you'll still forget
the Beach is Solitude
the Ocean is Sorrow
the Waves are Suffering
the Sands a Prison
the Tide a Respite
and Perdition
the Sun a watchful Apparition
the -b l i n d i n g- Truth
a -s e a r i n g- Judgement
Gripping Guilt
and -s i c k l y- Torment
my lone relief from the scalding Beach
the Waves of Grief, the Dams they breach
and some -m e m o r y- of what could have been
a foolish Wish to start again
Hyper focused and pointed like a sword tip
Obsessed with Discoverie, a thoughtful guilt trip
Possessed with a hunger deep within my brain
Do I dive head first to drown out all the pain?
Retail therapy in the form of knowledge
Collecting so many I could start a college
Digging so deep but only handfuls of fresh dirt
I feel like I'm telling me a story
A mundane slice of my life that bored me
But now it's precious and gold before me
A treasure chest of words from the old me
He's a younger man; So fresh, so bright eyed
He has all these plans; All of which would die
Not a single hobby shared that survived
Never grew into a skill; That's a lie
But here he is again; To try and share again
Delve deep a different way; To write a different day
Understanding why; New hobbies that I try
Are doomed, in short, to die
The fans of the machine humming warmly
The desk lit up without a shadow in sight
Working loud with such internal cacophony
The office silent; keyboard like a gunfight
Headphones injecting power metal within
The chair shaking with each kick of the drum
The sigh of relief as the clock marks the end
Put the laptop to sleep, time to go home
You're done.
