Questions in the Form of Circles
So far from the world that I sit upon
nothing left but a cord keeping me tethered down
persistent and eroding the nerves that still feel.
What lies ahead seems much to far
but the ghost of what was
haunts the passenger seat like it is still reality.
I was always taught to think ahead
that is no easy feat when tomorrow never comes
dawn never breaks these nightmares
the clock ticks, and I age
but the hands of time stay dorment
life is a game of waiting.
Patience is a virtue that I wasn't blessed with
the only attribute I own is my memory
gift or curse I cannot say.
What keeps me here to waste away
what is the purpose of my being
the cliche question often comes to mind
what is the meaning of life?
I've been stripped of my crutches
so I am forced to stagger onward
along the dark path
shaking hand barren of lantern to guide me
only the fires of my dying will burn on.
The seasons go on changing
blistering heat and biting cold
I don't bat an eye
I've seen it all before
this walking corpse will only breathe again
when new goals set themselves alight.
Often times I find myself staring
at the burning mass of gasses I once called stars
Wonders I was robbed of when adolecence faded away
I wish for them to implode or crash upon us
in hopes of release or relief
I've already seen more pain than I wish to see.
I dream that whatever is out there
comes sooner than later
for i grow weary of this shell
and the tribulations that adorn it's span of life.
a word I will never understand.
I cling to my pen
the only loyal friend I know.
The cycle continues whether I do or not
thats the beauty and torment of circles
they have no beginnings and no ends.