Which have as little or much
Order as do their owners’
States of mind, structures of
Their lives, foundations
Of their dreams.
Without question they precede
Something, some turning point,
Brief and temporary or
Endless and eternal.
And so I might find myself
In the dead of night, thinking
To myself
About all the questions
That are more eager than answers
To end their game of hide and
Seek, lest I run out of problems
And substantiate any sufficient solutions.
No matter, my mind is over
Gainful indulgence, seduced by losing bets like
A millionaire with a gambling addiction and a blind
Eye for extortion. The winners
In life know how to curb their appetites
For authenticity, their time for talks.
And when the crowds have subsided, the sound died down,
They run.
Mirrors hulk in once-refuges, stoic
Gatekeepers of reprieve. Winners know how
To abate their petrifying stares, avoid the soul
Searching glares, heads down, hands practiced, glass cracked and
Bare knuckles bloodied and bandaged.
Even in their lives alone, they remain
Haunted by spectral tormentors and mental disorders.
They pray to the work week, to overtime, to busyness,
Workaholic cultists, Insomnia’s peons, Anxiety’s underlings,
Dutiful followers, who offer thankful complaints and beg
For obstacles to peace and reflection.
They, who once feared their monsters, now
Avoid their beds, until their energy departs,
Aided in part by meds and utter fatigue.
Yet their pains are pain killers, nerve
Enders, comfortable companions compared to
The days behind them.
#Musings - Creolysis
fresh kelp
The first in a long collection of poems I was all calling "Musings" before I thought it might be better to have distinctive titles, still not sure which option is best
hot bridge