The hour of this day comes like a thief in the night. Calling out from deep within. Do you have what it takes to linger on? Frankly, my sails are down. The mast is broken. I have no drive nor the impetus to carry on. Of course, the people are my fuel for keeping that little flame of life going...
It is the price of the day. The many hours that tick on and on and on do seem to claim that dysentry of the spirit is inevitable. It is a matter of time. Embedded within is the waning call of Wendy looking for Neverland. I simple cannot recall the pains of my childhood because there were few. Bouncing back onto the travelator of self-deceit can be so, so tiring. I have always championed the cause of resilience, I have. But alas, the masks have cracks and the seal cannot conceal the Registry of Strain that borders along these very coasts of safety.I am truly tired. Exhausted beyond words. When can I retreat? WHEN?
The skies look so enchanted. And the clouds so inviting. I so wish I could chisel these weightful scabs away! Oh how I NEED to stay afloat or at least grab onto some vine that is near for support to knockout Fear. I loathe these fleeting moments of sheer hopelessness. I don't succumb to them. No! But I co-exist in constant battle with hardly any weaponry. The faceless enemy we keep can be intimidating and yet, there is a sliver of hope left. There is. I hope. The flickering flame lasts no more.
I lay awake watching. Waiting. It is the break of day. I know. I make or break it.
Focus on what gives and not things that drift.
The drone of life
- Written by Zany Lynn
- Category: Poetry
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