You worked with words wrapped tightly round,
This secret life of thought.
You sorely want to win, by hand,
Each battle that was brought.
But how can someone understand,
What every stranger knows?
You placed a bleak reminder note,
where your integrity goes.
You put it off and tried to smile,
But waiting made it hard to live.
You'd seek for her forgiveness but,
There’s hardly any
left to give.
Come back to life, my dearest friend,
You’ve had more than enough.
That inner voice, with strength to lend,
Is your best ally when things get rough.
What life, the life of the mind? Nice place to visit, but wouldn't recommend living there.
That’s what I originally wrote on the first draft of this.
It is an _old piece. It was born out of a dissatisfaction with written forms of personal expression. They always seemed to lack something and just became “bleak reminders “ instead of the mighty statements you imagine them to be.
The middle part imagines that there is someone the speaker ought to reconcile with but lacks the will to believe that it would be worth it. I wanted to imply that they’ve used their last favor or given up hope.
The final stanza came much later and serves as a reminder to listen to that inner voice, be your own ally even when you’re feeling doubt and defeat.
Here, I shrug, trust the muse, and hit “save” before I change my mind.
