Unfinished - ideas left dangling, incomplete
like poems that cannot find their end
I try to capture an essence that is hard to grasp
that wafts away frustratingly
like a vague scent upon a breeze
I write as though chasing down sunshine
- melted amber syrup upon the horizon at dusk
I am compelled to find the truth -
a truth that can only be found
by sifting through lies
like seeking a rainbow when faced with a storm
- rumbling thunder and mercurious lighting
ripping through the skies.
This but a dark disguise – the colour
found only when the sun breaks through
Will anyone make sense of my ramblings?
I doubt it but perhaps a few will try
…or maybe not
People are often too trapped by their own egos
to seek the meaning behind another's words
The human race, sometimes self-seeking,
selfish or filled with envy and spite
- still, I write
Why do I have such a need to express
my thoughts when it is unlikely these will
ever be fully understood?
Who remembers the clarity of day
when it is cloaked by the darkness of night?
Great artists have made an impact
but I have such a little voice
a vibration inside a box tied up with string
unlikely to be opened by many
- so few care about what is within
Sometimes I escape to another place
where the harshness of reality fades away
- still, I live,
but is this living
when day follows day?
Existence - meaningless and sometimes absurd
Foolish people fall for the dream,
my crying voice remains unheard
The rustling of leaves
and the creaking of branches
signifies the existence of wind
What is significant about my voice?
It is drowned out by music of the world
Clashing cymbals and beating drums
- pathways to another world
I search but never quite seem to find
a meaning to it all
and perhaps the hardest truth to accept
is that maybe, just maybe
there is no meaning at all.