Aggressive Regressive

This spark in the eye of the one who has seen,
and done everything and all in between,
Who has gone through this life and barely has lived,
decades along and has nothing to give.

The spark somehow stays hot and bright,
in the cold, nonmoving parts of life,
But why must it endure the misfortunes it does,
could I answer any better than, "Just because?"

There is no purpose, there is no rhyme,
there is no perfect point in time.
Where all is surface and judged as true,
the crippled mind behind the eye of---

Truth is truth no matter who,
and it doesn't matter what they do.
It never changes, it's never two,
and once it's done you can't undo.

This spark inside tries to ignite,
the fire, the drive, the desire to fight.
Sometimes, I wish, it would suffer the night,
and let me endure no more daylight.

Where is no purpose, where is no rhyme?
where is there no perfect point in time?
There is no surface that judges see through,
the crippled mind behind all the untrue.

Grown alone and broken of bone,
beaten down and turned to stone.
Neither here nor there, just tired and numb,
deaf and dead, drained and dumb.





Poetry by Bonehead83
Read 377 times
Written on 2025-08-22 at 23:13

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