The Hard Truth

I sit here watching my favorite ballet Bending gracefully inside its frame within the wall My mind taking a hard look at the meaning of my life What good is knowing, When you can't help those you love Their alchemists toiling away Pumping potion upon potion into their bodies Only to find things unchanged, What good is solving the riddles When the answers all say They will always know pain, What good is being alive, When watching my mind break Under the strain of trying to help them Makes their pain worse, The hard truth is, As I sit in the warmth of the flickering red I'm thinking about death. Would it be better if they didn't, Have to bear the weight of my Failing health on top of their own, Of course they'd say no, But would they be right Each time my mood swings From depression to anger Clawing at my face and pressing My head against the wall Trying to bang my brain into submission Before I hurt someone, Each time I swing to elation At finding another piece of the puzzle Only to find no one listening And starting the cycle again, Is living really better for them? I wish I had an answer. For then I could do something Besides going home and repeating The cycle yet again

Mental Journey

I am on a journey of the mind. Contemplating the universe on every scale, and doing a complete introspective exploration. I may never be a literary academic, but I share my humble thoughts in hope that they may inspire others.

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