Dec 2019
Once again, I follow The Old Road.
It’s a way paved and trodden long
ago by steps as disillusioned as
mine, and as blinded by the milky
fog filling lungs like frigid smoke.
When we’re lost, we believe it’s the
swollen feet and crooked spine and
chattering teeth and the burning mind
that are our ailments.
But time is our disease, ill spent and
driven off and engulfed while expecting
something different, something more,
for promises not made.
All the while death sings its ageless
lullaby louder and louder until the
only promise ever kept thrusts
the dusty sting.
But I won’t learn. I refuse to
pay attention.
Once again, I follow The Old Road.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
It’s a way paved and trodden long
ago by steps as disillusioned as
mine, and as blinded by the milky
fog filling lungs like frigid smoke.
When we’re lost, we believe it’s the
swollen feet and crooked spine and
chattering teeth and the burning mind
that are our ailments.
But time is our disease, ill spent and
driven off and engulfed while expecting
something different, something more,
for promises not made.
All the while death sings its ageless
lullaby louder and louder until the
only promise ever kept thrusts
the dusty sting.
But I won’t learn. I refuse to
pay attention.
Once again, I follow The Old Road.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
I often write my poems while listening to songs on repeat, and the two I had playing during this one was "Oh Death" by Noah Gundersen and "In The Woods Somewhere" by Hozier. Check them out!
And I tagged this poem as time management because, as great as actual practicable techniques and tactics and strategies are, sometimes you just need to be inspired to stop hanging on in quiet desperation (despite it being the English way).
And I tagged this poem as time management because, as great as actual practicable techniques and tactics and strategies are, sometimes you just need to be inspired to stop hanging on in quiet desperation (despite it being the English way).
