Unceasing and tireless, the mind whirrs
Amidst the present, adrift in deliberation

Engulfed, in the abyss of the surreal
Devouring in it’s void, the vestiges of the real

Conjuring up impossibles, it satiates it’s desires
A rye of gratification, even merely in illusion

And sometimes else, it drowns in fears
Of unfounded origins, and willful conclusions

And sometimes other, it weaves the yarn
Of the unfamiliar strands of the yet to come

As turbulent as the gusts of the northern peaks
As fickle as a feather in a wind that blows

Lost in a labyrinth of what distracts and detours
Astray in the momentary, temporizing what counts

I remain, in ponder, and in ire and in irk
Alas, a slave, to this whimsical lord

With every dawn, I tell myself
Survive a little more; be a little more
For, until I die, I am still living

I wake up, and gaze out, for far too long
Lapsing into a mirage of what I was

A neat tuck into the hair; a forlorn attempt to smile
I walk away from those peering dead eyes

I defy the hue of darkness that looms inside
And tread the sunny boulevard, of a life erstwhile

With a will yet not strong, I be at guard
Of the prying obscurity of my numbing mind

I crusade; I battle; I muster the zeal to revive
I indulge; I spoil; I feel my vitality breathing alive

Yet, a heartbeat after, the darkness within
Casts a shadow; shading; scathing my pale skin

A vague silhouette of my former self
I return, a stranger, with a listless face

I gaze out again, at the dying sun
And my deceitful mirage, with it, ebbs and ends

With that, every nightfall, I fail myself
Helpless, a little more; resigned, a little more
For, as long as I exist, I know I perish