There was a man I knew Who said: I’m dead inside They lied to me About life. Where is that vital spark That drives so many on? They strive to realize Their passions and their Purpose. Whereas I can fashion Nothing but my misery. I stare at shadows On the wall Appalled at my lack. Like a cat, I follow Dappled lights Across the floor But without elation. Who then am I But a shell? Who can tell if I am Even living? I say: Most people are this way. They fill up the empty Corners of their lives With lies they tell themselves. They rut and strut As if everything’s alright. A holiday a year. A few beers An affair here and there. The stuttering glare Of the TV on their faces. They say they care But they don’t. They just put themselves Through their paces. Every day, the same. Death gaining on Them an inch at a time. Existence a murderous Crime on all of us. Why then do you believe You should be feted? What makes you So special? Life's a slog. You’re a dog On a taut leash Slathering Barking Impotent Starving. You’re not a fallen angel In disguise, Your light suppressed But ready to rise, If only you knew the Trick to it all. No. We’re all just fools. So, the man said: Then what’s the Point, if Life’s so cruel? Why thrash And gnash Why contend at all? Why haul yourself from Bed each day? Why pray, and clean, And work and feed? Why spread your seed Only to inflict These nightmares On some other poor Soul? What's the goal? Well, then that’s The challenge, I say. To know Life's All a struggle, Yet carry on Anyway. Face your fears In face of death. Do your best With what you have. Aspire to inspire Not fill your time With emptiness. Cheating death's not An option. Happiness is fleeting. And more grinding Fearful times there'll be Ahead. But instead of chasing The veneer of what Others seem to have. Build your own Kingdom. Covet true friends. Family if they care. Dare to be you For all your time on earth Even as you stare Into the Void. And then, perhaps, If only for an instant, The leash might break. And you will run Free Into the night.
Is This Really Life?
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Is this really life? Or just a semblance of one? Cocooned in this Peaceful, cloying, dusty cell. Without another voice To tell me that I’m dreaming.
Holy heck, what an incredibly powerful poem, Scott!! You are dropping some serious truths in this one - I dig it heaps!!
“Cheating death's not / An option.” This line in particular made me say yes with deep resonance, fantastic!👏✨
Beautiful.