As my eye catches the glimmer
of the coming dusk of my life,
I thank you for reminding me how it feels to love,
and be rejected,
One more time.

Discontent and boredom battle mightily
To see which owns my addled wit.
Rain streaks down the kitchen windows
Making worm-like shadows on the floor.

The need to move nips at my torpor
And reads my dictionary of excuses
As I stare at crumbs on the tablecloth
And wish I had another biscuit.

What’s gone wrong, I can’t make right.
I’m stuck here with no options
And I don’t care which way it goes;
I’m too busy being grumpy.

There’s a cricket hidden in the hallway
Nine days now and it just won’t die.
The muted chirping stops and starts,
Loud enough to be annoying

But not enough to be a mask and hide
The thunder of my disappointment
When clouds and rain refuse to leave
And I am left with only empty musings.

My hands aren’t pretty any more.
They used to pose so gracefully
But time has bruised and twisted them
And they no longer reach out to be seen.

That’s just another loss to ponder:
Take a number - stand in line.
Everything depresses me, and then...
There’s that mother-******* cricket!
              ljm

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Assuming that we can only experience time on a linear scale, I believe that suffering and joy can both be broken down into various opposing feelings that reflect our views on the past, present, and future.
These basic feelings are as follows:

        Desire (want for something not currently present) vs
Contentment (acceptance of present circumstances)

        Fear (belief that the future may be worse than the present) vs Hopefulness (belief that the future will be better than the present)

        Lamentment (recalling negative events that have occurred in the past) vs Reminiscence (recalling positive events in the past)

In our current mortal existence, we happen upon a complicated mixture of feelings both good and bad. Many of these are combinations of the six basic feelings. For example, motivation can be explained as the desire to perform a difficult task, along with hopefulness that we'll succeed in performing the task. Likewise, regret can be described as the lamentation of a past event, along with the unfulfillable desire to change the way we had acted.
All of our feelings, in addition to our cumulative worldly experiences, help us define what we call "life".

1/19/17

turn back time
she whispered as her head drooped down
hung in defeat, hung in despair
she didn't know what to do

turn back time
she thought as she set fire to the notebook
a flicker of flame, a flicker of hope
wavering with the breeze

turn back time
she couldn't say the words out loud though
the paper crinkled, the paper shrivelled
dreams gone up in smoke

sacrifices made in vain

An apostle named Paul said that the love of money is the root of all evil
The playwright George Bernard Shaw said that the lack of money is the root of all evil

I think they're both right, but personally i couldn't bring myself to put any money on it.

If money is evil, it seems like war that it is a necessary one
But that doesn't mean we should spend all of our time training with knives and guns
And like Mobb Deep said a shook one
Would dare to use their natural talents to earn funds

But what about doing something for the love of doing it?
What about artistic integrity and  personal pride?
Well, I'll put it to you like this.
Every artist thats had a hit has also had to miss

And if you can make money doing what you love for the rest of your years
Bless you, creative soul for culturing our sodding ears

May we dance in the firelight
And sway in the breeze
Set aglow with you
Amongst the midsummer trees

May these flights of fancy
Become long voyages borne
On the wings of dark angels
Blowing on gilded horn

And when the winter breeze
Creaks open our doors
May the grinning hearth
Warm our hearts to their cores

Watch them all; so merry, so bright
So filled with such wonderful light
Envious of those who carry their souls
In gilded mesh cages of lanterns aflight

Listen as the telltale ravings
Of men and women alike
Take flight and flare like midsummer suns
Amongst the chirps of a hunting shrike

And while the swirling storms batter our doors
Tear apart these terrible floors
So when the daily visitors arrive
It will be through pain that they shall thrive