I started with a blank page thinking to myself I’ll never write again. At least not poetry because I’ve got no poet left inside me. It’s felt like this for weeks upon weeks and came with the onset of what has been probably the most difficult, if certainly not the most stressful periods in my life.
Difficult classes, drug interactions
My heart rate racing and beating
off-tempo, to its own drum
like I do except
it’s not supposed to do that.
And then there was the crash.
A sudden impact of vehicles
an experiment of force imparted
from one object in motion to another
and I guess in the natural
calculation of the physics
that shockwave left me calm
and must have shook something loose.
because here I am
sticking my neck in the pathetic noose
that is poetry.
I ask myself now
what am I made of?
debacles and debates
and all of that is give and take
but never more of the former
than the latter because I refuse
to give up.
My soul has seen the finer things
the darkest nights
and the most lucid of dreams
but still I find myself echoing the words
of the preacher, the teacher
shouting from the bottom of my lungs
my diaphragm the plunger
for the syringe as I inject these words
into the atmosphere
and listen for the sound of my voice
as it bounces predictably off these great walls
I’ve built around myself:
“EVERYTHING IS MEANINGLESS”
Vanity, a vapor, a mist.
Something that exists
for a short period of time
then vanishes into the air,
like words I speak
fall dead into the air I breathe sometimes
It’s all just running after the wind.
So, when my friend asks me
if I ever wanted to die
I want to tell her, my sister
I know the question behind your question,
That I have seen the depths of sorrow
and the traps and snares they create.
The self hate and the demons
that cry for blood inside your head
are no match for the kingdom in your heart
No matter how many ways and how many days
they lay siege to the doors
of your pericardium,
The harsh reality is your suffering means nothing
it is a waste of everything that is you,
the good and the bad
if you fall prey to the meaninglessness of it all.
There’s so much of this world
and people in it that haven’t seen you
to become something that appears for a short time
have not yet seen what this world
has in store for me
and I seek God failingly,
faltering with every step,
boots laced with pride and selfishness
And I want to take them off
but it’s all about my comfort, isn’t it?
I have seen the evils of this world
so I deserve the grace of some comfort…
And so I turn my head sideways
and pour out all the stories I know to my sister
I tell her how I saw my one friend
after he almost died
and my best friend in the entire world
tried over 15 times and survived.
But it’s all just meaningless, right?
Nevermind the depths of the abyss
I have stared into and in that, become
You can’t see into the pupils of my eyes
and see the demons howling
and rearranging my thoughts
that let me know just how deep
the hole goes and won’t tell me
how long I’ll be stuck in it.
Saying everything I say
EVERYTHING I say and do is meaningless
Hit that delete key, kid.
Your words will fall upon deaf eyes.
Don’t express yourself
because you’ll be exposed for who you are
I can’t tell her that because that would be too much
But I must confess
that it can’t just all be meaningless…
The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. (Ecclesiastes 12:13 ESV)