My Stery
Matt DeckerA 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