Everyone has those moments

Where doubt clouds the mind

And they themselves end up broken

They turn: numb, undetermined and blind

They cannot simply survive, neither can I.

Not with no written or verbal guide

Yet, we cannot simply derive

A person, friend or foe, who leads us in stride,

I cannot fathom what would make us so joyous,

Nor so confident,

As to lead ourselves on a path known to be golden.

For those who have, my envy is flamboyant.

Thus this foreboding feeling, of time gone with all commodities,

Comes and crashes, strong and fierce

Soaking through the pores of living bodies

Only then do I realize the sting of life’s pierce.

I will be cast along a line

Beaten, battered to nonexistence.

I will be held against, and used for bloody wine,

And cry loud and long with strong persistence.

For death or life, I do not know.

I will dream of love but wish for peace,

For there is no piece where love grows

Only sweet war, where survivors guilt cannot be appeased

When it is time, I will stop and see

A young, bitter sweet incomplete life,

Simply too clear and bright, to be

 But cut short by a low brittle knife,

Last breaths sink in slow

Relishing the present’s affection

And wishing for that insane gift to bow deep and low,

And as before in many times, be thrown into oblivion.