"exert" poems
"You know, I used to be good at math,"
He says,
A cigarette cradled in his fingers,
Spilling ash on his blue jeans.
He rearranges himself, removes his jacket -
It's much too hot for leather now -
And reveals a Dean t-shirt.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
"The rules just got too crazy, too specific.
Too dependent and tangled.
Well, too much so for the effort I was willing to exert."
He's frank, I'll give him that.
How does he make utter sloth seem so innocent?
Too cool for school, I suppose.
He calls himself a Methodist.
Not like that, though.
He says he's just figured life out.
He means the hows, not the whys.
The stops along the tour of personal success.
A Methodist.
Too cool for school, I suppose.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 1:10 PM UTC
Not the unhappy everyone talks about.
Not just the lonely unhappy.
Not just the unaccomplished/unmotivated unhappy.
Not just the loveless unhappy.
Not just the careless unhappy.
Not just the “let down” unhappy.
I wish there was a way to better exert the meaning of what I’m feeling.
It’s the unhappy that makes me ***** before each occasion.
It’s the unhappy that makes me want to sink into the walls.
I want to break glass, break bone, break the unbreakable.
I want to rip and scratch.
Skin, lips, paper.
It’s like a downward spin that sometimes leaves me pleased…
and other times incredibly hollowed.
There aren’t any solid memories that explain why I’ve gotten so sad.
I do remember when it started though, or at least when I was old enough to understand it was not a good feeling.
Five.
Five years old.
Sitting alone in the heater room where my “tea table” was set up.
Tweety bird tea set.
I remember thinking about grown-ups and all that they do.
I remember not wanting to be a child anymore.
I’d get mad when someone interrupted my thoughts.
That was the first time I remember being depressed.
I’ve been depressed since,
but depression is a very small part of unhappiness…
or whatever it is that’s been sloshing around in my gut since age five.
All I know is that it escalates.
It always has and now I’m very afraid that it always will.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 11:19 PM UTC
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk with
a middle-aged bitterness
of the man you were raised
to believe was too virtuous
to be in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him—
The man whose love confused you,
whose clumsy attempts
of fatherhood
kept the heart of a young girl
perpetually guarded
by a cautious skepticism—
The man who brought you into
a world he found absurd
as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner
with the two of them a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (though
you’d feel like a traitor
if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children I may ever bear
into this bittersweet game of ********
we play that we’ve since called ‘life,’
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems to navigate
the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
Its 3am and I'd rather be somewhere else.
I made a veggie burger.
And ate a jar of pickles.
And thought about crying,
But I didn't want to exert the energy.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk
of the man you were raised
to believe
was too virtuous to be
in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him.
The man who brought you into
the world as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner with them
a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (even though
you’d feel like a traitor if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children
I may ever bring
into this ******** little game that
goes by the name of “life,”
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems
to be navigating the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
maybe i got no time
to think of words that will rhyme
even if it's out of my system
to make an unrhymed poem,
i will write one for you.
..
..
too tired to stay
only to be pushed away
too tired to exert effort
on people who doesn't know my worth
too tired to care
nothing left for myself to spare
and maybe like an unrhymed poem
your verses seemed like mayhem
but i still love them
every **** bit of them.
and maybe like a rhyming poem
i can never get you out of my system
God knows how hard i tried
but i'm tired
in an attempt to make an unrhymed poem, i still wrote a rhyming one at the end.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
Life molds you into a shapeshifting mess.
One stumbles through different tribulations, and the soul diversifies as the years pass.
You turn into different versions of yourself.
It’s like treading through hell, but you taste heaven at the same time.
It’s not a choice, it’s a requirement.
Its like drinking liquid gold. The concept is luxurious, but it kills you so deliberately.
A beautiful solemnity?
Emotions so immense.
It hurts so much to breathe, to exist, yet you need to stay, you stay because of love. We suffer to exert empathy. Love is the cutlass that impales deeply.
It cuts far, it makes you bleed profusely, but it feels so good.
It just feels so good.
Is there a point to it all in the very end?
Happiness seems temporary. Chasing it is like the drop you feel when the veil is pulled from under your foundation; long, scary.
Happiness is the rarest paragon.
The heart, heavy and the mind, full.
Wondering day after day.
Who will understand me, touch me, sense me.
Wonder, keep wondering.
Wonder possesses you.
Wonder keeps watching you.
Wonder doesn’t let go, it comes to watch you die.
That’s the why, that’s the death.
Life will never give you an answer.
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 1:54 PM UTC
Warning: This content may contain graphic descriptions, which may not be suitable for underage viewers if reading aloud.
Our bodies touch
as I embrace you tightly
I feel an overwhealming
warm sensation consuming
my entire body as I
run my fingers through
your long and beautiful hair.
I begin to kiss you lovingly
and passionately on the lips
to ultimately display
my affection for you
and feelings that
can''t be explained
even in the most
beloved words.
Sweet and soft kisses
on your neck are
to let you know that
I''m ready this time
to show you that
you are meant to
be mine and only mine
for now and forever.
I place my hand on
your leg slowly sliding
it up to your thigh
gently massaging your
inner thigh while
I bite into your neck
listening to your soft moans
and becoming more aroused
as more delightful thoughts
come into mind, on how
I can pleasure and satisfy you
mentally and sexually.
Excitement and the craving
for lust becomes addicting
and drives us both mad
with wild intentions to
make love to one another
I remove all of your clothing
along with mine as well,
I place you on the bed
I take it slowly once again
by kissing your body all over
my hands wonder all over you
massaging your legs,
massaging your thighs
then massaging your *******
I align your body with mine
carefully allowing myself
to go inside of you
because I value every
moment of our intiment pleasure
my hip movement corresponds to yours.
I whisper loving thoughts in your ear
on how my endless desire to
please you like you truely deserve
may not ever be fufilled.
I caress you
while you are in my lap
we exchange loving
and passionate wet kisses
I increase my speed
and exert more force
making myself go "harder" and
"faster" allowing you to feel
the warming sensations that
I once felt before flow
into you as well
I feel you tighten up around me
I notice that your legs and arms
are placed around my waist
clinging to me tightly
feeling safe and secure
in my arms
you wanting and encouraging me
to do whatever I please
as long as I don''t stop
I become driven by
my very own intentions
I feel the both of us
on the verge of climaxing.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 9:27 AM UTC
Mneme begin. Inspire, ye sacred nine,
Your vent’rous Afric in her great design.
Mneme, immortal pow’r, I trace thy spring:
Assist my strains, while I thy glories sing:
The acts of long departed years, by thee
Recover’d, in due order rang’d we see:
Thy pow’r the long-forgotten calls from night,
That sweetly plays before the fancy’s sight.
Mneme in our nocturnal visions pours
The ample treasure of her secret stores;
Swift from above the wings her silent flight
Through Phoebe’s realms, fair regent of the night;
And, in her pomp of images display’d,
To the high-raptur’d poet gives her aid,
Through the unbounded regions of the mind,
Diffusing light celestial and refin’d.
The heav’nly phantom paints the actions done
By ev’ry tribe beneath the rolling sun.
Mneme, enthron’d within the human breast,
Has vice condemn’d, and ev’ry virtue blest.
How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear?
Sweeter than music to the ravish’d ear,
Sweeter than Maro’s entertaining strains
Resounding through the groves, and hills, and plains.
But how is Mneme dreaded by the race,
Who scorn her warnings and despise her grace?
By her unveil’d each horrid crime appears,
Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.
Days, years mispent, O what a hell of woe!
Hers the worst tortures that our souls can know.
Now eighteen years their destin’d course have run,
In fast succession round the central sun.
How did the follies of that period pass
Unnotic’d, but behold them writ in brass!
In Recollection see them fresh return,
And sure ’tis mine to be asham’d, and mourn.
O Virtue, smiling in immortal green,
Do thou exert thy pow’r, and change the scene;
Be thine employ to guide my future days,
And mine to pay the tribute of my praise.
Of Recollection such the pow’r enthron’d
In ev’ry breast, and thus her pow’r is own’d.
The wretch, who dar’d the vengeance of the skies,
At last awakes in horror and surprise,
By her alarm’d, he sees impending fate,
He howls in anguish, and repents too late.
But O! what peace, what joys are hers t’ impart
To ev’ry holy, ev’ry upright heart!
Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine,
Feels himself shelter’d from the wrath divine!
2.3k
You made a cage out of
your rules and your ideals.
You picked me up
and you locked me in it.
I’m caged.
I’m slaved.
And I’m lost.
BUT
You can cage my body,
not my thoughts.
You can dictate my actions,
but you can’t manipulate my mind.
You can exert harass my body,
but you can’t compel my soul.
Your cage can’t tame this free spirit.
Your cage is too small for these huge wings.
So, I will break free
and fly into the open.
And I will Fly high
as high my dreams go.
And before you know,
I would already be flying way high for you to reach.
Finally, the cage is broken.
I’m free.
I’m alive.
And I’m Un-Caged
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Whales were,
above all else,
deliberate
about the pace
with which they
moved through the world,
conscientious,
perhaps to a fault,
about the economy of movement
required to propel
such incredible mass over such
enormous, empty spans
of open ocean.
Here is a humpback whale
resting, face-down
staring into the cerulean
abyss, alone
but singing, perhaps for
enjoyment, perhaps out of
boredom, or perhaps due to
loneliness and longing.
She twists
and turns a single eye up toward
the surface, her iris catching
sunbeams and contracting,
as she gauges
the gargantuan effort she must exert
in order to gain her next breath.
In this case, she concludes that, yes,
the effort will be worth it.
But what you must know about
whales is that
on rare occasion,
they would cast these concerns
of intentionality and efficiency aside,
and choose to
activate the entirety of their being,
from the sinews to the soul,
and propel themselves,
heedlessly and at top speed
toward, through, and past the surface of the ocean,
as though they were attempting to
fully take flight,
to escape, with finality,
the cold confines of their known existence,
the omnipresent, furrowed gaze of the void below.
But invariably,
and in spite of their best efforts,
the whales would be pulled
back downward,
by forces they could not
fully comprehend,
sure as the tides would fall shortly after
the moon passed overhead.
Yes, the physical impact of colliding
with the surface of the ocean
would be painful for the whales,
but what hurt
so much more than that
was having to return
to the stark, lonely calculus
of whether or not
to keep going.
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:55 AM UTC
When people are shocked when they hear
About the things you did to me
I am always met with a strange level of surprise
For many years
I led my life believing this is normal
That everyone faces some form of abuse
At some point in their life.
Maybe it's because my normal
Has always been feeling stranded
Feeling empty
Because I don't know how to feel anything else.
Maybe it's because my normal
Has been for over a decade
That this is just how things are
As though it has been viciously branded to my body.
Maybe it's because my normal
Includes me proudly exposing my scars
So I can help others heal theirs.
Maybe it's because my twisted normal
Has made this everything I see.
I cannot say that the way he touches me
Does not bring up memories of the way you violated me.
I cannot say that the smell of mushrooms
Though vile to most people
Does not bring up a specific image in my mind of your bed.
Then mixed messages tell you
"It's your fault"
"It wasn't abuse"
"He should be in jail"
"Why wouldn't you prosecute?"
"You should hate him"
And you just want to shut out the noise
So you can soundly make a decision on your own
But they keep hounding
And you lose the ability to cope
So you take a knife to your arm
And a handful of pills
So maybe you can just have silence
For once.
Parents find you
And therapy becomes crucial
In which she tells me
That I am safe
I am okay
I am fine.
However, I will never be fine
Because I can never accept what you did to me
But I have moved on because I am worth it.
Letting you control all of me
Thoughts, behaviors and actions
Is like letting you get away with this atrocity.
It's like letting you tell me this is my fault
When it's no one but your own.
Although, when people ask me why I don't hate you
It's because you do not get the satisfaction of any of my strong feelings.
However, it is also because
You were a teenager
If people knew everything I got into at fourteen
There would be some pretty incriminating details there as well.
But the main reason why I will never exert anger toward you
Is because I got over this traumatic event not by hating your existence
But by loving my own.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
While others chant of gay Elysian scenes,
Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow’ry plains,
My song more happy speaks a greater name,
Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.
For thee, O R—, the muse attunes her strings,
And mounts sublime above inferior things.
I sing not now of green embow’ring woods,
I sing not now the daughters of the floods,
I sing not of the storms o’er ocean driv’n,
And how they howl’d along the waste of heav’n.
But I to R——- would paint the British shore,
And vast Atlantic, not untry’d before:
Thy life impair’d commands thee to arise,
Leave these bleak regions and inclement skies,
Where chilling winds return the winter past,
And nature shudders at the furious blast.
O thou stupendous, earth-enclosing main
Exert thy wonders to the world again!
If ere thy pow’r prolong’d the fleeting breath,
Turn’d back the shafts, and mock’d the gates of death,
If ere thine air dispens’d an healing pow’r,
Or snatch’d the victim from the fatal hour,
This equal case demands thine equal care,
And equal wonders may this patient share.
But unavailing, frantic is the dream
To hope thine aid without the aid of him
Who gave thee birth and taught thee where to flow,
And in thy waves his various blessings show.
May R—return to view his native shore
Replete with vigour not his own before,
Then shall we see with pleasure and surprise,
And own thy work, great Ruler of the skies!
1.9k
Am I the only one who cares
about keeping in touch?
Am I the only one who dares
to wait without rush?
Why am I the only one who's hurt?
Is it because of the effort I exert?
Is it because I care deeply
when they were having fun freely?
I wait, I wait, and I wait.
I sacrifice time because it's worth it.
But you can't even stay for me
Am I not worth it?
With you, I want to be.
With them, you want to be.
So I ask again,
Am I not worth it?
Happiness with you, I desired
but now, I am sick, I am tired
I must find happiness on my own
I can only be happy alone.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Do you hear the sounds of music playing?
The tone and feel that keeps you swaying.
The recurring beat, the tapping feet,
The strings ***** and the keys sweet.
Each style diverse in feeling and spirit,
Each sound distinct if you can hear it.
Yet they are all beautiful in unique ways
And may seem to place you in a daze.
A classical piece full of beauty and grace,
Violins, cellos, percussion, and bass,
An orchestra full of musicians and skill,
The audience moved yet sitting quite still.
The loud, and crazy, and pounding rock concert
Where all energy saved is brought to exert.
Guitar distortion and drums with power,
A crowd head-banging, hour after hour.
Rappers who speed like an antique auctioneer
Bring out the beats and rap with no fear.
Dance circles and moves are sure to form,
If hip-hop starts, the dancers swarm.
A small jazz band with smooth rhythm and time
Play the sounds of old and make us feel prime.
The trumpets, the snaps, the cool suede shoes,
All sights and sounds of the old-time blues.
Music holds joy and moves the soul,
Music is collective and is one and whole.
Though conflicting styles and motives may be,
Music was made for you and for me.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Something is out of place.
Something inherently
molecular within her
myogenic wilderness:
a modesty, an awareness,
the visible manifestation
of her shyness.
It contracts.
It tones.
It colors her
openly,
just as the sky.
Involuntary,
just as stimuli.
There's something new
about this face.
Something awakened.
Something lovestruck
and silly.
For what else
could exert such
a dilator mechanism,
in all its deliciousness?
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 10:51 AM UTC
I love you like...
The moment that I realize I have two hours left and find out I didn't oversleep
The Anticipation of telling beautiful surprises that are so challenging to keep
The few seconds before we finally jump from a cliff that is just a little too steep
The tears that bleed from my eyes out of joy, and aren't accompanied by a weep
An uncontrollable smile after watching a puppy take it's very first spirited leap
The freedom I feel from escaping the herd removing ourselves from the sheep
The optimistic first steps of a child's feet standing up to life"s broom"s first sweep
The necessary silence rarely shared from a reflecting gaze piercing ever so deep
I think of you...when...
The pain finally doesn"t hurt
I wear my one favorite shirt
The Perfect word is finally blurt
Absolutely nothing left to exert
Finished work covered in dirt
The wind blows up your skirt
Organically we begin to flirt
Arrived Just in time for dessert
I need you like...
A runner needs his feet
A writer needs a pen
A song needs a beat
A rooster needs a hen
The cold needs the heat
The military needs men
A carnivore needs meat
A monk needs his zen
I miss you like...
A plant wilting from a drought
A dog laying by his owner"s grave
Silence misses a necessary shout
Hibernating bears without their cave
A champion boxer"s very last bout
An injured surfer watching a wave
An old man"s window looking out
Addiction misses his best friend crave
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
My neck hurts from the curves that come when I exert,
enough energy to network with these nerds and increase my net worth,
she’s an alcoholic hanging out at the bar I’m a workaholic raising the bar,
so take a guess at who’s efforts are worth more,
anyways here we are,
or rather there we were,
since I’m with another girl now,
and no longer with her,
I’m with a girl I met on Venice Beach,
who wears tattoos on both arms like sleeves,
which is ironic since that’s also where she wears her heart,
at any rate I’m with a girl I met on Venice Beach,
we had dinner then had ***
a typical set of activities on any given night in this city,
and after she finished she said I’d crossed a line,
and she proceeded to tell me a story,
of how she’d been gang ***** a few years ago,
and how she still carries what had been done to her around,
about how she’d been drugged up then **** fckt,
then left alone bruise faced ****** assed on the ground,
no reason to sugar coat it,
men can be fcking disgusting,
that’s why if I was a woman I’d be a lesbian,
and I don’t mean that in any way that’s funny,
we spoke in our awkward line crossed post *** sweat,
laying there exhausted on my bed,
we talked about how men are such conflicted creatures,
how they can be so nice on the surface but so mean with ***
how most of them are just looking for a place to stick it in,
and how sickening that fact is especially since I’m one of those ********
and she left my house soon after but I didn’t expect her to stay,
especially since everything we’d begun to make had already turned into a disaster,
and as she disappeared into the night,
on a bike as black as the sky,
I thought about how she reminded me,
of the Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and why…
∆ LaLux ∆
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 1:34 PM UTC
Wizened, like the mountain ridges in the west,
you gazed across the desk at me, rheumy eyes unblinking,
and asked me what I wanted from life
When I answered, the blue opacity of your gaze seemed to sharpen
and pierce my soul
you clasped your hands comfortably, and rolled your ancient shoulders back
- trees rippled in the ridges of your crisply pressed shirt -
and you told me, with your well-worn voice, that you would exert every effort
to give me all the tools I needed to succeed
as you blinked, our conference ended, like the sun had gone down
I was free to leave, but lingered
your short white hair crested your brow like a fresh snowcap, you
had ravines beside your eyes, and smiled like a canyon
so I turned to go
And it occurred to me, as I left the inclines of your presence for
the flat horizons of my daily life, that I
would like to have the same peace that flowed
through your being,
it would be a healthy rain to the desert of my soul.
I longed to have the verdancy that you had - you,
forty years my senior; you put my youth to shame
but soon you would be my teacher, and
you would not let me go to waste
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
HAVE
1) I have it here.
2) Has it had me?
3) Have. Want. Need. Exert.
4) What do I have?
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
some souls burn the brightest only after seeing the abysmal darkness. we will not be extinguished, as our worth is indescribable. the universe would not exert such ferocity to keep us here if we weren't meant for something ineffable – the changes we shall elicit in the world: together.
yet in this testament, the truth comes to light. our souls have been tied together from the dawn of time; reliving countless lives. the scriptures forgot about us. mythology mentions us; but fails to depict us in the same tangent, let alone together.
we are more than the greek goddesses and muses, we encompass the celestial bodies of the heavens. artemis aurora, and calliope polaris.
you are the goddess of the hunt, protector and patroness of the forest; as your ribbons fill the night with ethereal glowing light.
I am the muse of epic poetry who hangs above the sky, guiding lost travelers when the universe was still a child.
we come together upon the call of night to fulfill our destinies until the end of eternity, or until the galaxy burns out and we are born anew. maybe then will we be one; as it was meant to be.
but until that time finally comes, I am satisfied just to share the sky with you; hoping that I may catch a glimpse of the green mysticism that you weave each night.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
it's easy
to let your blood drip
to let your tears flow
to let yourself fall
for it feels freely natural
when you exert no force
and yet you end up hurt
because that's how
it always ends up anyway
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
Moving at the speed of slow
comfortable in this minor pace
Approaching my ultimate goal
mesmerized at the escalator's glow
green lit stairs on this moving staircase
taking me up with its mechanical soul
Being coddled my entire life, this is normal
no need to exert any unneeded energy
following the fast track without intent to stop
parents paid for a school that is formal
educated privately into the business synergy
gray suits and fortune await for me at the top
With a screech and a **** the beast halts
accidents happen, but how do we react?
With my escalator stopped, how do I proceed
Without trial by fire, conflict, or faults
Unprepared and contemplating this life impact
I sulked in anger, blaming others that I won't succeed
I see the goal at the top, but its distance is intimidating
How do I reach for that goal if this escalator is broken?
I've never moved forward one complicated step in my life
The terrain is not difficult and the path isn't winding
Then I heard a voice, (my own thoughts?), softly spoken
'It's a staircase you idiot, take a step, you're hardly in strife'
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 6:14 AM UTC