I’m pounding these keys
Trying to create a landmark
Something to last through time
A rhyme to set off a sudden spark
I’m vain in ways I won’t admit
A schedule of words upon the page
Formulas/equations for me to disconnect
Memories for after I’ve withered into age
Watching the condensation seep into the desk
I think of the glories that have gone away
The ice melting/mixing into my single malt
I’ve been nervous, but I’m okay by the end of the day
These days weren’t the ones we’ve been dreaming of
Idealistic thoughts when we were on foreign shores
Imagining celebrities dancing in their formalwear
Fancy & festive role models displayed forevermore
Upon the big screen & locked into our minds
Americana lost & the golden age of Hollywood
Stoking the passion of our fervid imaginations
Inspiring our dreams like nothing else ever could
Our hopes & desires abandoned & hung out to dry
March realizations our fantasies are mere celluloid
The cold night, withering on the streets alone
Upon the credits, leaving the theater broke & into the void
Carefully chosen sentence structures
The love of words keeping you from the cold
Bundled in that threadbare cardigan
But you never allowed your spirit to be sold
The world wishes to destroy your soul
& watch gleefully as you wither & cry
But as long as you keep on writing
You’ll learn that you can never really die
Finding an edge to life
Loose thread; ripping out the seams
Setting out for an independent life
No purpose if they’re not your dreams
Perplexing choices to those
Who forgot to shake in quaking fear
You hope to wither in the memory
Of these who are content to remain here
“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anaïs Nin
Captain Q 