Silly me. I thought I had a choice.
I assumed, like most people do, that
I could put pen to paper
some other day, perhaps
during an hour of peace,
or once I've had my
first, second, third
fourth cup of coffee
or wait till later on
when the sun crashes into the
earth exploding dawn everywhere
golden beautiful like *****
one beer, two, a shot of
whiskey, a few puffs of the cigarette
walking back and forth
mumble here and there
My roommates talk over each other
Moving on
Let's put it off till another day
My muses take their turns on me;
a ******* of creativity
So much possibility, and emptiness
is an illusion; the ego is the *****
for the masses
And I shut the door
rock back and forth
I am nothing, be something,
everything hurts and more
It comes to be,
whatever it is,
it comes to be
all that's all there is
It comes to be without me,
these hands, this vessel
the breath, the life
I live, it just comes to be
Silly me. I thought I had a responsibility
I assumed, like most fools do, that
this life was mine, and these actions
were the inevitable outcome of freewill
I'll go to bed,
and the night blends
like half and half
into the morning's
grief