This was the longest waking week of my entire life.
It had its ups and downs like all things transient and brief.
But where was all the love that once there was
Replaced by deadened muffled sounds of grief.
This was the longest rising day of my longest week.
Its ups were the ecstasy of success and recognition.
Its lows were the highest form of malice – degradation
Of the soul undermining my essence
The very capacity to be me, assaulted
by wave upon wave of noise and human existence,
clouding my thoughts, mindfulness and deeds
in mists of accentuated wants and needs.
Would there have been no other way to circumnavigate
The pile of ash that was my day? No phoenix here
To be reborn, but dust and charred remains
Forsworn to wallow in its own worrisome way.
Could you imagine as much as this, for if this be,
Nothing is nothing and these things are nothings.
Do we in our fragility presume to exist?
How can we, when we do not even know our own names?