From Poetry

Seeking Control

2-26-17 16:56

I wrote a while back about a resurrection of writing poetry again, but never followed it up with much of an effort. Needless to say it was much like my effort towards writing in here. Life is pure undiluted chaos, and focus must be redirected constantly. Thus, how I spend what little free time I have is critical to my sanity. I started this poem one late night I don’t even know how long ago, and suddenly decided to finish it.

The essence of the writing below is the concept that I don’t feel like I control much of my life. School and work twist and pull me in so many ways that my life at times is too contorted to make sense of. Thus, I find myself envious of those who have dismissed society and live their life free of mundane concerns like money (basically being a homeless hipster). While the romantic inside me can identify and recognize such a life, the logical side of me can’t even comprehend walking across such an unstable bridge.

Life is a track on which we are forced to race,
countless outside influences setting the pace.
Gasping for air and some semblance of control,
falling ever so deeper inside their blackhole.

A byproduct of humanity that we’re forced to bare,
some are enlightened while most are unaware.
Envious of those who live in that ignorant bliss,
too scared to follow them into that blackish abyss.

Such a formidable leap with an unstable landing,
an uncertain future with no idea where you’ll be standing.
To much invested to suddenly turn back,
ready yourself for another lap around their track.

The Renaissance

5/1/2016 09:26

Recently I’ve met an artist that has inspired a renaissance within me. I’m a very complex individual who dabbles in many things, a lot of which are contradictory to one another. However, this is about writing; which is something I’ve always enjoyed. Crafting words together inspires unlimited creativity, and can be an incredible release. This, and an appreciation for poetry, was taught to me back in high school by an english teacher named Mr. Dicus.

Supposedly, writing poetry isn’t something a man does, so needless to say I succumbed to society and it was eventually phased out of my life. Unfortunately when you’re a male of that age almost everything takes a back seat to impressing women. However, with age comes wisdom and harder skin. So with the encouragement of my friend, I’ve decided to give poetry another shot. Since I find myself knee deep in the shit of finals at the moment, I thought it’d be best to write about what I’m currently going through (although I will say it is considerably embellished). So here it is:

Where It All Funnels In

As time withers away concern starts to rise,
You must keep going regardless of tired eyes.
Wearing a calm and collected face like a poorly made disguise,
Secretly drowning in anguish, surely this will be my demise.
All bases must be covered, every fact and date memorized;
No room for failure, every potential question analyzed.

Papers are now bleeding in yellow highlighter ink demanding attention,
Brain losing focus, struggling with cognitive retention.
Thoughts of surrender as self doubt starts to creep in,
Unfortunately times over, time for the finals to begin.