Weight

“Grueling… We take our first steps--claiming to be ready. Claiming confidence.
Rehearsing a better understanding of the life we’ve called cursed and bleak--and
vile--so many times in the past. I’m not sure if it’s a survival-mechanism or a
conscious decision forced to surface in the hesitance of doubt, which often precludes
strength… Making us arrogantly feign invincibility--so sure that if we’ve defied the gods
of this Hell, then we, alone, must have control over our own mortality… Sadly, though--it
seems that, in actuality, we have no more control over ourselves--and our thoughts--than
we have over our own fates. I suppose, however, that someone--one day soon,
[taking for granted, the idea that it could have a lready happened]--will exhibit an
attuned focus and the rare ability to find paths within these un-navigable hazes,
which shroud the most intimate and secret processes within our lives--and it's in this
state of true-enlightenment we‘ll stand--assertively, commanding dominance over this
life and grab hold of “the reigns” with their greatest fervor… Forcing complete control to
be relinquished unto them.”

As a child of the “wander” so often I have wondered:
“Why wasn’t I designed to take this?”

With so many built for the punishment… Built for the wars,
Why do I collapse when faced by my tasks?

Facing the unknown… Facing what we all call: Impossible

As a peer of those “hardened“, so often I’m burdened:
“Why wasn’t I stronger than this?”

A martyr, damned--deemed immortal… But I’ll forever die,
A monster; men proclaiming my sins… For which, I’m given no penance,

With so many claiming innocence… With guilt for their walls,
Why must I forgive them, when faced with their lies?

Facing the unknown… Facing what we all call: Impossible

A man, damned--forced to wander… Lost--inside this compiling life,
A fiend; men run from my presence… From it, I have no escape,

No way out… In my thoughts--I’m sure to drown,
Only doubt… In my rotting hole in the ground,
Waiting to be washed out…

A martyr, damned--deemed immortal… But I’ll forever die,
A monster; men proclaiming my sins… For which, I’m given no penance,

A man, damned--forced to ponder… Lost--inside our compiling life,

A fiend; men run from my presence… From it, I have no escape,

With so many built for the punishment… Built for the wars,
Why do I collapse when faced by my tasks?

Facing the unknown… Facing what we all call: Impossible

“People--alongside of their burdens/joys/fears/ambitions/etcetera--broadcast
continuous streams of feedback--information detailing even the most acute
changes in comfort and tolerance levels… If we set out in confidence, we seem
to harbor debilitating thoughts of doubt and worry, lending devastating negativity.
However, if we leave hesitant--unsure, expecting catastrophe--we run a higher
chance of witnessing the very moment that our fears come to pass. I know, it
seems, as if, it’s a chore… And that no one point-in-time, as of yet, can offer us the
stability and serenity that is earned through knowing--indubitably--that we are
wholly ‘taken care of’ in the greater scheme of things… Whether the knowledge is
bestowed by either an epiphany, a relentless--self-scarring--journey to find one’s
‘truest self’, or through miraculous acts of divine intervention. However, I am
willing to be the first--though, I hope not—to openly, and without shame, flaunt
instances--within my lifetime--during which, not one of doubt’s crippling emotions
have rendered me lame… So that someone may have a fighting chance in this
misnomer--this barren, dying creation--that we will, so affectionately call ‘life’ for
what exists as the remainder of our days.”

As we’ve numbered the march of our days, so encumbered…
“Could anyone else shoulder this weight?”

Still, so many are taking on punishments… Preparing for war,
Should they all collapse… Seeking the shelter of graves?

When standing alone… Standing against: the Impossible

As the days pass and I witness their torment and grief…
“Could anyone else survive in this wake?”

A moment to breathe. We’re mortal… But forever we’re tried,
Like monsters… They air all our sins. Which they won’t absolve,

Still the broken, hurting and innocent… Are building their walls,
Why must I protect them from this “capsizing of liars“?

We stand here alone… Staring into: Impossible

So solemn, I believe. Our morals are losing to their twisted smiles
So sure that the fruits of our labor… They’re all about to reap,

No way out… In my thoughts--I’m sure to drown,
Only doubt… In my rotting hole in the ground,
Waiting to be washed out

A moment to breathe. We’re mortal… But forever we’re tried,
Like monsters… They air all our sins. Which they won’t absolve,

So solemn, I believe. Our morals are losing to their twisted smiles
So sure that the fruits of our labor… Their all about to reap,

Still, so many are taking on punishments… Preparing for war,
Should they all collapse… Seeking the shelter of graves?

When standing alone… Standing against: Impossible

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