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.