The original title for this unfinished poem is "The Intimidator". I forgot when I first wrote this anyway and what direction I thought it was going? BUT that aside, I can surmise (if knowing my own thoughts, which I normally don't >.>) that it's referring to...well, I'll let you romanticize that :D
I make no progress
for I have failed to fail
What can I progress towards
when the only adversity I face
Is my own fear of failing?
How can I face [myself] knowing that
failure isn't a 'natural' component
in living but a necessity for growth?
When is growth and progress actually
coincidal? We are taught that growth and
progress are rather similar
But what if it isn't?
What is a natural progression
that we assume Time leads us towards?
[Why is the assumption that a natural
progression occurs over time?]
*It can lead us nowhere except for where
our actions consequently undertakes.
Or, I shall self-correct –un consequently
undertakes. So much of our banal actions
receive no [immediate/harsh/visible] consequence
And…rather if the consequence is 'small'
Considered 'un'consequential at all