how do we come at it again,
where do we find the reserves
to make one more charge,
to wreck ourselves
once more
upon this barren hill;
do we keep lying to ourselves,
in hopes some part of the journey
will change,
why do we believe;
a partial driver is need:
money is the currency of survival,
but we could find it elsewhere;
so what brings us back,
what piece inside us
makes us feel we need
to make this doomed assault
one more time;
the piece that makes
each of us
who we are
Category: Poetry
The Process
the spirit is willing
but the mind lags,
weighed down by crippling fear
disguised as deep thought,
the way forward is through
unbending determination;
dragging yourself
inch by treacherous inch
through the swamps
of the mind
until you understand:
you are your own strength,
you can match your spirit
what is there to lose,
in chasing after a dream
Wants
what is this wanting;
my pleasures are simple:
a good book,
a mug of steaming tea,
a blank page and a good pen,
a quiet walk in the sun,
an ocean to soothe my soul,
family;
I have all these -
and so much more -
at my fingertips,
so what is this unrest;
it is as though
I want something more
from the world,
it has nothing more to give;
what is it I want from myself,
what hollow desire
keeps me searching