It was brought to my attention today,
Much to my chagrin,
Just how little I really do.
That’s not to say I don’t try, or
Haven’t the best of intentions.
It merely means that, on the whole,
I am a pretty pathetic human being.
After hours in the dark,
Searching my mind to and fro,
I find I contribute very little to the world around me.
like an observer in a plastic bubble,
I watch life go on around me, beside me, near me,
Never once lifting my hand to nudge it along.
The pain, my old dear friend and enemy,
Has stolen my spark of life at long last.
That piece of me that determines who I am and
What I wish to accomplish;
That inner fire that fuels my desires,
Is just gone or finally grown cold and stale…..
What, I wonder, will it take to rekindle that flame?
Who can breathe the life back into these cold, dead lungs.
Where can I find healing for this suppurated flesh?
In what tome will I find the words to rekindle my spirit?
When will the sun rise and warm my frozen soul?
And so I sit here in the dark again,
Fighting my dead flesh into the semblance of some sort of living.
Trying to fool, if possible, even myself into believing that I still live here.
Amongst the living lights of my loved ones.
The only people I would stay in this frozen place for.
Staying here, absorbing their warmth and light,
Until my own catches fire and breathes once again…