PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As years keep stacking, time seems to quicken.

I'm growing too used to the hours I used to revere and dread.

I'm segmenting the entropic sadness that was capable of being romanticised for its anarchy,

Now they're grounded in a reality too affected by my own hand.

Poeticism used to burgeon from the cracks of my living

Rather than be a time to be set aside. 

It feels as though I am truly in transition to the future I feared I would arrive at.

But tell me, was that the fear of a youthful cynicism of purposes' stasis;

And I am embarking upon understanding I could only have dreamt of?

Or are these the final spasms of suffocation; the individual

I am sacrificing for a path sowed since seed?

Unfortunately there is no correct choice, and the alternative 

Will always seem the sweeter as long as I draw breath.

I suppose I can try and keep to both sides of the coin,

But to straddle a line is to live in two halves, uncommitted;

And if I am to forsake one side of pride, I would rather do so completely.

Whatever future unfurls itself, I can only try

To embody it as wholly as possible. 

If I am to regret a life not lived, it will have to compete

With the one I live now,

And I will make that as difficult as possible.