My Stery

A world built on nothing

Holds the soul from Something.

*

There's got to be

More for me

Than what I see

And strive to be.

*

Goals and gold

And what's told

Really gets old.

(The mold will never hold.)

*

It's hard to find much else

On the crowded shelf

Lined with wealth and self.

*

Might success be a quest

For something less

Than what's spiritually best?

*

In the end --

To what end

Has been

The trends

And sins?

*

Do actions and distractions

Impact the everlasting?

*

What's it all for?

More and more

I need less and less

Of the craziness and haziness

That passes for consciousness.

I need more.

*

I'm losin' the illusion

(Deluge of delusion) --

Should I refuse the refuge

Of static truth and

Automatic solutions?

*

I strain to explain

The long reign of pain.

(Guess my brain is to blame.)

*

I don't think I asked

For the blast of my past

Or the die that was cast.

*

I was not born

To conform

To the norm.

*

I've spent so long

Trying to belong

In a place and space

That was never my home.

(All along I was wrong.)

*

All this -- I wish

For there to be

More to it.

The mission of my existence

Can't be to merely

Get through it.

*

How can I be content

Having used up and spent

So much time and life

On little fickle drivel

That came then went?

*

Crisis of identity

Cries from within me:

"Who am I, really?

And how real can this be?"

*

I feel I'm about to break!

Maybe I'm just awake.

*

A mark of destiny

Marked for eternity?

Questions get the best of me.

*

After the last chapter --

CONCLUSION.

What will be the

Conclusion?

*

With the mist and myths of history

Will my story remain a mystery?

*

© Matt Decker

Recommend Write a ReviewReport