it all falls apart eventually

the entropic laws of the universe

how many words can one pour out into a universe that doesn’t notice them at all

how many dreams have to not materialize

how many hopes can be dashed upon the rocks of the shore

how many before you hang your pen up and saunter away into the twilight of your life

that’s the crossroad i find myself sitting at now

giving up

giving in

a common thread throughout this sad dystopian life

i’m going to sit on the dock and watch the sun set on a career of mediocrity

not sure if there is anything left to say

how many ways can you write from your soul

before realizing it is just as pointless as everything else

how many times can you rip your own heart out before it lays down to despair

too many it seems

and never enough

i’ll still dream

just in silence

perhaps i’ll still write

just in my own mind with a multicolored pen of whimsical design

no one can take that away

at least not yet

the poet illterate is tired

and it seems to be time to sleep

to finally succumb to the entropy inherent in the world

we are born to struggle and fight our way towards death

some just get a little more out of it all than others

some just get the burnt end and make do

i always wanted more

not the hand i was dealt

“to die, to sleep – to sleep perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come” – hamlet