There is a war in the mind. I have lost track of how many fights there have been, what is what, and when they even occurred. I even began to lose sight of battles I fought days ago. It is all starting to die; vanish. I see, I feel, I falter. I loved that I could enter a new fight with a grin and intention, and feel deep down that, yeah, I can win this!
But now? No, no I cannot do that anymore. Been there, done that. A fool I was. With years, comes the hard truth: a trait of wisdom some call it. I don’t think wisdom exists. It’s simply denial, or acceptance. I’m lost to time. I am not going back to the old me. Can’t. There is no going back. Never was.. Even if you thought you went back, you weren’t the same. The world wasn’t the same as it was before. You went to a new place, thinking it was familiar. Home is where the heart is, ay? Nay, it is where our denial festers. Home is where discomfort shapes itself in the form of safety. And safety.. Bah, that too is something nobody seems to understand. Another decoy, another lifeless body.
Random poem time!
Old and wise.
I am only 20.
Old and wise, I have endured plenty.
Sometimes planned, sometimes unplanned. Either way, I saw things and too many.
By loss of life, solitude in death: dedicated strife, I will lose all memory.
Regret engulfed sorrow, and ignored my withered plea to be forgiven; for l am sorry.
Wake up at sunset, fall asleep at sunrise.Some call me crazy, others lazy.
I am a nobody. To the outside world, I am what they make of me.
Crazy, lazy, old and wise. An outcast that lives; a man that never cries.
Maybe, maybe il change for the better, or l'll continue to hide and speak through only letter.
One can only dream of days gorged in glee. A light at the end of the tunnel: fireflies. With an adjacent sea, reflecting might.
Providing the necessary; reliable embassy. The world, so cruel, so unfair, is overall, scary.
I might die here. I might live to tell a tale once more. I know not what the future has in store.
But if my infernal heart dies out , and leaves a cold, know I loved, smiled and felt. For at my core, I was and am, and will continue to live on in time as, just a man.
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I know little of what came over me. This poem simply flowed through my dissociated body onto this post. Still, whether this poem is of any value, depends on how it reaches you.
I must state that good will come. It is always on its way. Rather slowly, however. Give it time.