What is it we seek?
Money and comfort?
Fame and glory?
Peace and serenity?
...time, precious time,
Spent living each moment
Savoring the bitter sweet taste of it all,
Without insatiable desires
Demanding to be met...
I can't piece together the words,
Or fit phrases to funny rules.
I can't write a poem, it seems.
I can't find my voice,
And speak my truths,
As my mind is so shattered, it seems...
Flitting from one idea to the next,
Like some bee working the field of flowers,
Gathering pollen all over his body,
To be picked clean by his hive...
Perhaps the perfectionist,
Thinking I can write once, and be done,
Without any revisions.
I have nothing to share, it seems -
So beat down by poverty,
Specialized in my education,
Lacking work experiences
To prove that I'm capable
To my next boss.
Lost in a crowd,
Lost without connections,
Lost in an unquiet mind.
So frustrated
By the impending doom.
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