I
I wouldn’t say I’m sober now,But neither am I liquored up.
I guess I’m just preoccupied
With existential thoughts.
And that is why I seem distraught:
While part of me’s awaiting death,
The second part is clinging on
To this simplistic life.
I’m floating by and trudging ‘long,
I’m hoping that a glimmer of
Enlightenment will find its way
To this imprisoned mind.
I wish I were a bird because
I’d have to move through air instead
Of trudging through these expecta-
-tions, sorely overwhelmed.
II
You’d think that air would rightly be a breeze to travel through.But something ‘bout these sounds and stares keeps holding back my feet:
These horrid expectations that are always finding me
I’d rather have replaced with clubs or knives of crimson hue.
This populace is filled with people that refuse to care:
A massive presentation of this world’s fatuity.
These ersatz feelings pave the way for thoughts that torture me:
That everyone is simply waiting for my mind to tear.
The stares devoid of any thought replace the dreams of past;
Forgetting what they once lived for, these people are now grey—
Their dull indifference seeks to spread its deadly grip to me.
I’m chained and beat by glares and stares, but hold my ground, steadfast.
III
There are a million paths through life, and e--very one is forked to form a million more.
At every gateway there’s a second door
To lead you faster to your final end.
It offers you a short respite, an end
To all the gloomy things that may assault
Your mind and propagate your countless faults,
Which never cease to bring torment and doubt.
Thus, Death is there, awaiting your last bout,
Which drives you grimly, quickly ‘cross the edge—
That ever-present scythe with sharpened edge,
That cloak of darkness standing motionless.
Don’t let yourself be drawn by what Death says;
It’s easy to be happy when some nic-
-eties find you, but not so otherwise.
If life were not made up of darker times,
The better times would not be so sublime.