~ a poem

Something has long gnawed at the edge of my consciousness.
An eclipsing presence fleeting and anonymous
More than a feeling, closer to an embodiment of unease
Not so much care now for me to unfreeze

An anomie of my spirit and station
The recursive curse on my narration
A restriction on pursued self-discovery
The few openings and fewer savings perfunctory

A wall built on the pathways into new horizons,
Their even summits are tantalizing

But obfuscating penumbra prevents one from seeing new sunrise
Its shadowy creep seeks to demoralize
You bear witness to the Fountain
Just over the lip of this Mountain
It is enchanting.
It is damning.

And it is my creation, our creation
We have constructed a monument to our own limitations
Founded in lies of apathy, self-loathing, and deprecations
Avarice and angst and restlessness and contempt
Dreadful depressive darknesses does the light preempt
These forces seemingly do not end
And on their tenebrous strength, oh do we depend!

(The challenge: striving without the currency of efficacy.)

This instinct has thrived among us for longer than I can remember.
My sense is that things are off
And they will remain so until we surrender
This is the destiny we must quaff, the engendered payoff, and the appointed cutoff

Somewhere along the way,
in the predictably wayward world we cast away,
an irrevocable devolution in us took place
it is there we willfully entered darkness’ airspace

This change built reprehensible, elemental doubt
we have learned of this shaded symmetry, day in and day out
illusions have pervaded our conscious action
the course-correcting end we dream of: an abstraction


Consequentially, suffering results.

I fear these alterations are here to stay.

Even now, I woefully thread them into the streams of my chaotic endeavor

And yet,
contending with these shadows,
I hope for dawn.

What a fool. ~

~ written a while ago

~ art by len-yan