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My Stery

Tags: bemore

A world built on nothing
Holds the soul from Something.

There's got to be
More for me
Than what I see
And strive to be.

Goals and gold
And what's told
Really gets old.
(The mold will never hold.)

It's hard to find much else
On the crowded shelf 
Lined with wealth and self.

Might success be a quest
For something less
Than what's spiritually best?

In the end --
To what end
Has been
The trends
And sins?

Do actions and distractions 
Impact the everlasting?

What's it all for?
More and more
I need less and less
Of the craziness and haziness 
That passes for consciousness.
I need more.

I'm losin' the illusion 
(Deluge of delusion) --
Should I refuse the refuge
Of static truth and
Automatic solutions?

I strain to explain 
The long reign of pain.
(Guess my brain is to blame.)

I don't think I asked
For the blast of my past
Or the die that was cast.

I was not born
To conform
To the norm.

I've spent so long
Trying to belong
In a place and space
That was never my home.
(All along I was wrong.)

All this -- I wish
For there to be
More to it.
The mission of my existence 
Can't be to merely 
Get through it.

How can I be content
Having used up and spent
So much time and life
On little fickle drivel
That came then went?

Crisis of identity 
Cries from within me:
"Who am I, really?
And how real can this be?"

I feel I'm about to break!
Maybe I'm just awake.

A mark of destiny 
Marked for eternity?
Questions get the best of me.

After the last chapter --
CONCLUSION.
What will be the
Conclusion?

With the mist and myths of history
Will my story remain a mystery?

©️ Matt Decker 



This post first appeared on The Decker Edge, please read the originial post: here

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