Dying Vocations

Too busy being a gullible Too busy believing and odiously accepting myself as easygoing Too busy not being myself. My self is just lifting the white flag. The zephyr doing too little to move it. Cogitating every now and then Wondering my time will come when? Susurrating my thoughts to myself Before sleeping, biting my sheets Wondering my time will come when? When they turn to dust, my teeth? Things are making me solicitous I think my self is growing, And the process is stupefying. Is it too much, is it too less Let me push the button and reset. But oh wait, I guess I need to temporize. Is it too soon, is it too late. Let me just speak to my self. Its too much to think, too much to swallow up the flame So raw, so tractable. Counted as strident, if I stand up for myself. Counted as boorish. My words named "gibberish". And my self named "slipshod". But this war will end Through vying, through sophistry. But I will revere for myself. Bequeathing a lesson for "selfs" Selfs caging themselves Because of their dying vocations Because of words sprayed on their faces That were said from the ones that couldn't vanquish their monsters. A.A.B