Too slow in this fast-paced world
Too dumb among the smart people
Too simple yet living in complications
Am I bound to be like this?
Can I even cope up?

It's hard to say if the climb was worth it

I know they push and press convincingly that
the climb is always worth it, but is it really?
I am left scraped up and battered
from all the boulders
and the wolves
and all the **** thorns
and left wondering if I really made it out better on the other side

There's always another mountain

And is it worth it?
To what end do we climb?
To what purpose do we trudge tirelessly up the mountainside,
wondering when we will reach the top?
I have reached the top many times
And there is always another **** mountain to climb
on the other side

So it's hard to say if the climb was worth it

And that is not to say I am done climbing
Though I question, my body falls back into the rhythm of the climb
ignores the scrapes and bruises
ignores the way the wolves nip at my heels
because I too always feel there is victory at the top
believe the nicks come with the climb
believe that if I just reach the top, then I can be free

But there's always another mountain

And what did I gain more than experience?
More than scars, and disappointment
Does it even matter that I have beaten the mountain
if nothing ever changes but my own weariness?
It is insanity, the very climb we repeat
over and over
as if there will ever be a different outcome

It's hard to say if the climb was worth it

At the edge of the wood
And draw maps of what we believe
Our anatomies will look like
Before and after the war

Sounds, spoken of my mind,
   Impulsive,
Yet, still overthought.

I never know what to say,
   But always know just how to say it.

I'm quite skilled,
   In the art of scaring you away,
With the words I didn't know how to say.

Stuck in this space of mind,
   That hides me from the correct answer,
Forced to find the long way around.

For the sake to not make a fool of myself,
   I just have to remember...

I Have the Write to Remain Silent

~Robert van Lingen

Sometimes it’s hard to tell which one is the actual dream
Whether it’s the mind that’s open
Or the eyes
There’s tribulation
Everything is easier that way
When you’re constantly under fire, things tend to resolve themselves
All you have to do is maintain

Got a word stuck behind your tongue
a sentence chippin' at your tooth
and I'm sitting here wonderin' what you have to lose

we're suffocating on
fruition stuck to pause
jaw grittin', head-splitting, complicating it until we rot

I wonder where you're at
perhaps you wonder too
I've learned the hard way that what ya say isn't always true

so suffocate me good
stuff it under things you should
and I'll be here
mere sightseer
collecting glass and driftwood

the ocean swells inside
a storm you cannot hide
we stand at command
desperate to find our pride

is it so crucial?
to feel important and useful?
what makes you tick? what makes you sick?
Does it matter if we remain truthful?

There is loss and gain
my indulgence abstained
I hope you look at me
and finally come to see
I'm more than flesh and vein

Emotions made tender, but fair, fearing not the outside,
to what is felt inside, to play in eternity, to think in infinity,
be only that a paradox is, nothing else, nothing more, nothing
less, attempt to avoid despair and crying mood. As for you,
Bill, if the world is a stage, than the death penalty only applies
to the casting director. There is greatness outside poems,
romance too, sunburnt smiles and laughing memories.
Though for now, I shall write only about my death, fear, insecurity,
fault and flaws in written poetry. Not for comfort in. Just glittering
drops of silver stars, as for others to benefit from. It is worrying
only to be a paradox, living within immortality.