just one of those lament-like poems
This addiction; my attrition of faith.
Can one gradually lose what was never there?
It feels that way
with thoughts that steep like a cluster of tea leaves.
There is always a division
a land and a sea,
so it must have been there,
I don't know what I value anymore...
is it the hunger;
or the static, un-moving moments?
It's always been the hunger
that drives the decisions and desire.
I escaped the spider,
but was it for reasons beyond my control?
The spider was a pet,
a lingering effect...
of the twist in my stomach,
the hunger that gnawed at my thoughts.
I crave again.
Like the wayward page and paper vampire
I lust with a hunger
that surrenders my appetite of thought and avidity.
I label the aim the beach.
And I a wave that may crash at its shores
but never reach the tree line.
This is so different than the spider,
that smelled so sweet
but would have tasted so bitter.
This beach is so familiar,
And yet so…
Overlooked until now.
I cannot do, that’s something that's already been had,
But a damning is worthy anyways for waiting so long.
The wave will crash,
Unheard like white noise,
As long as it always swells and falls.
But the wave will always curl and crumble,
Desperate to reach beyond the sand.
So why have these words come to light?
It’s all that is known,
To feel, to ache,
And then to write, and write…
But after words come actions.
This will change,
This will deceive even the writer who chooses words as these…
In the end,
When the hunger grows so tight
That it can no longer go unnoticed,
The wave begins to write,
and what follows only brings the story more to life…
The wave choses to write, and sever;
To end the act in whole before action may come.