Occipital

Poem

Photo by Ludovica Dri on Unsplash

I often feel as if I am not myself,

Held back by some unseen force,

Bidden by the pulls of the demands of the world.

Cosmology indistinguishable from my individual journey,

I partake in a play that is written and unfinished.

Time seeps through my days,

I strive, directionless,

I falter, hopeless.

I awake on a precipice,

Sleep in a chasm.

Moments of awe dapple the landscape of twilight,

Pinholes of brightness in the ever growing dark.

Hope’s penetration is sterilized,

Pulled apart by nameless thieves that rob indiscriminately

That which dares to linger.

Effusiveness scurries like an errant mouse searching for crumbs

Amongst binfuls of discarded thought.

I know nothing, risk nothing.

Time finds me,

Discordant and empty,

Fighting a battle that has no enemy,

Save, myself.