I found it so easy
to despise,
when my dreams seemed
to fail me.
So much for being
something,
all the time.
Sometimes we’re nothing.
All I had is what I learned
from you.
A faint assist,
yes;
a start and a stumble.
I found the knife
better than the fist,
but either marker
brought me trouble.
I have made my way
up from the bottom
of my empty cup.
Stepped on to a path,
that led to a mountain,
and I started up.
From nothing
to everything,
there is no denying;
that the ones
that take the wound,
and never heal,
just lay there
expiring.
I’m not right,
and I’m not wrong,
but I’m still climbing.
The past
are all the places
I have died,
and in the future,
I’m dying.
There is something
funny about time,
it isn’t what it seems.
We can conquer life,
and fail our dreams.
Ghosts come from the past,
and future selves embrace.
Confusing as it is,
it’s what we face.
We can be
anything.
We can be
nothing.
Every night,
we dream of something.
Under the sky.
Under the ground.
in time
we all are found.
A purpose,
or an end
to wondering.
HG – 2020
