Cycles Of Concord And Strife
© Surazeus
2018 12 29
Light shadows of morning hang in the room
on heavy flightless wings of numb despair
that depress my chest of stale silent air
so I stare at nothing in stagnant gloom.
Though there are a dozen things I should do
to advance my career of great success
I want to lie alone and decompress
from tense obsession to perform on cue.
Why does this aggressive voice in my head
judge me failure because I want to rest
instead of competing to be the best,
since wealth will mean nothing when I am dead?
I feel like I should rise and do my chores
to maintain process of my constant growth
but I would rather relax like the sloth,
ignoring urgent fear behind locked doors.
I need to lie alone in silent state
and let my brain process recent events,
calculating nature of its contents
so I can navigate way through my fate.
Each time I talk to people face to face
it seems they expect me to read some script
but life is not performed by manuscript
so I pretend I came from outer space.
I twirl around and crack some silly joke
to break from chains of blind behavioral rules
that rearrange the walls of structured schools
then prance around in superhero cloak.
Strange laughter at the silliness of life
sparks wings of hope so I can rise from bed
and do what I love before I am dead
since living is cycles of concord and strife.
© Surazeus
2018 12 29
Light shadows of morning hang in the room
on heavy flightless wings of numb despair
that depress my chest of stale silent air
so I stare at nothing in stagnant gloom.
Though there are a dozen things I should do
to advance my career of great success
I want to lie alone and decompress
from tense obsession to perform on cue.
Why does this aggressive voice in my head
judge me failure because I want to rest
instead of competing to be the best,
since wealth will mean nothing when I am dead?
I feel like I should rise and do my chores
to maintain process of my constant growth
but I would rather relax like the sloth,
ignoring urgent fear behind locked doors.
I need to lie alone in silent state
and let my brain process recent events,
calculating nature of its contents
so I can navigate way through my fate.
Each time I talk to people face to face
it seems they expect me to read some script
but life is not performed by manuscript
so I pretend I came from outer space.
I twirl around and crack some silly joke
to break from chains of blind behavioral rules
that rearrange the walls of structured schools
then prance around in superhero cloak.
Strange laughter at the silliness of life
sparks wings of hope so I can rise from bed
and do what I love before I am dead
since living is cycles of concord and strife.
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