Despair Foreseen

What stagnancy surrounds that which is fumbling for gesture?

Wherein lies a sentence that solves?

 

And in those hours he saw with such clarity

The reality of his living, in dispair. 

For as he trundled on this path forworn

He kept his head down, afraid.

 

Self-regard has failed the man who lives in filth;

Who shall lay in himself, contented in monotony.

A comfort so trodden it has embedded,

Leaving walls too high to climb. 

 

But so removed are such actions of wallowing;

That he has attained a self-awareness

That allows observance but naught than that

And cycles a damning death. 

 

Yet as my pen shall motion 

This recognition of such moves nowhere,

And so such words will stain this damned brain

Yet make no motion for the better. 

 

Where may I continue?

A fork presents;

The observance of observance evermore,

Or a fumble for unclear revelation. 

I shall scream from inward to outward;

A begging of want for more;

Will my legs to move. 

 

The future is bleak in such dark hours

And as such, I see it clearer. 

For the happiness of life is muddled

Under the realism of a pessimism

And thirst for want for that which has never been

And may never be again. 

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allets's picture

"the realism of a pessimism"

To pause and consider the unconquered glories of before that will never return is a universal for all humans. Wanting and yearning is not the same as having the "willing" to move. I had to read it 3x to grasp a piece of this one. - slc


 

 

Q.V.'s picture

This poem will resonates with

This poem will resonates with me.  In 1981, after sixteen years of public school and private college; in the wake of a failed romance and a failed first job; up to my collarbuttons in student loan debt; with no prospects for the future; and most of my friends scattered to the four corners of this country (and no internet, then, to connect us), I felt exactly like this.  Thirty six years later, with all of those issues resolved, the memory of that year can still bring me nightmares.  I wish this poem had existed for to be read back then, it would have helped me immensely.


Q.V.