-Plastic Carrot On A String-

Life is strife and death.
We all want
a peaceful place to rest.
I see a spot down the road
that's the place to be.
I think I once was there.
Had I really arrived?
Or was it just
a good steady stride?
Is there no magic key
or great leap,
that can bring me back
to the place on the path
where I used to be?
Is it really there?
Or is it a mind's eye mirage?
A cruel trick of the brain
proclaiming that I'm worthless
if I haven't already attained
a quiet corner booth
at this place of high esteem.
Just down the road,
I hope
it's there waiting for me,
a quiet little clearing
where all is smooth and easy.
Does ease on earth exist?
Inch by inch is NOT a cinch.
It's a slow crawl forward
when I've got no strength.
Crawling the length
of the rough patch.
Face-down on my stomach,
bruised arms reaching,
fingernails clawing at the cold dirt.
It's not a stroll in the park.
It gets pretty dark
when distractions arise,
and the sun is eclipsed
by the looming black blinder
that takes my attention and time.
The seemingly impossible situation
is a brick wall barrier.
To press on would be scarier
than wandering in the woods.
Should I just take a break
to escape
from this tough landscape?
If I'm not careful
I'll find myself
off with the swine,
and feelin fine
wasting my time,
wasting my time.



Susannah said...

"Inch by inch is NOT a cinch." - great line!

"and the sun is eclipsed
by the looming black blinder"

- love that description and can identify with that feeling too.

Chhaya said...

A very dark poem, this one. Kind of my style as i love swimming in thes depths :)

keep them coming!

be not blind said...

Susannah and Chhaya, thanks for the comments! I appreciate the support.