something whacked out in bits and pieces
I am thick sunsets,
Sloping in massive sand dunes,
Trickling at a languid pace,
Like sweaty summer afternoons.
I am a desperate hope for a better Canada,
Growing up in the shadow of my parents' nation,
One that loomed with greatness
And acquiesced with kindness,
A country that was grand and whole.
I am a tired protester,
Fighting with fatigue present behind my eyelids,
Weighing my sleep down with worries of a social nature,
All I can think of is how these are rights
That I should not be required to twist and kick and pull for.
I am late nights and early mornings,
Watching the sun rise with the knowledge that I
Have been up long before the light stretches and reaches
All the way up to the pale blue sky, dislodging the moon.
I am black coffee, choking down bitter brew,
Elusive wakefulness, whining for the caffeine to kick in,
Waiting for a glimpse of awareness, of bright attention,
Yet receiving no immediate gratification.
I am cold night air, when it slides past my lungs,
An exhalation, an admission, a confession,
Agreeing that yes, maybe I don't know what I'm doing,
But does my intention matter, or my achievement?