As time swirls around,
yet still managing to drain me of my essence,
I now struggle with the strength needed
to read, persevere, understand,
to try, love, and live

Once upon a time,
this person with a book could last for eternity
the characters' light never failed to reach
within to a clumsy, pure spirit
all words were full of beauty, meaning,
and something to shield a hurt, soft, soul
from reality's greater, never ending, flaws

All along, I was completely sure of myself
as a soul of humanity's good,
a warm, comforting light to they
who were lost, with no sense of direction
such as me,

Then, the moments arrive
where a person discovers every flaw of themselves,
where a never ending strength
could morph into relentless anger and remorse,

Where I discover
I am far too much of a
penetrable, ignorant, weak characterized being
lacking a will with enough strength
to rid oneself of even the most smallest fears,

I have grown with time
in some ways others could notice,
although a new, clear view of the world
has its great toll of compromises,

But, deep in the hollow, damp, cave
something has remained the same,

There is a gray, forever shifting
impossible shallowless
that shadows me everywhere
regardless of what I change
despite all the efforts, and how much I try,

Nowadays, I peer with wide eyes into the darkness
and succumb to a lavishly dark thought,
that this must be where
all of humanity conjured up
the elastic, nerve racking, electric,
frightening idea of
a so called fate,

I feel numb,
as if somehow already perceiving
every choice, feeling, action, word, is pointless
as if already knowing
yes, no matter how much you try
some things really are, forever impossible.

I can't discover anything
that will bring a soul
out a creeping, old well full of
densely dark oil,
containing someone with a
slippery grasp on their surroundings

and a very, very
heavy heart

I no longer want to look at words,
they swim in my head
and corner my pitiful, strenuous brain
that tries each day, to make sense
of everything that appears to be senseless,

I'd like to get away
from everything fluorescent and slick, and retreat to the corners
of a wooden, green, world filled with
sunshine, and blossoming,
sharp-witted flowers,

I'd like to take a moment appreciating
autumn leaves swirl in crisp, refreshing air,
rather than having to shiver from the
relentless cold, that each day forces my will
to desire only two things:
my bedroom,
and solitude

I'd like to decide, for once,
what I do,
how I live,
and where I would like to end up.