Anthony Dean Corey | Sunday, 21 November 2021 | Print
Life is a teacher,
a time bomb,
and knowledge is its shrapnel.
And the bloodshed is wisdom earned.
Like a lone wolf, I scour solitude as if it was what I intended.
I walk these streets alone,
for the streets are the only who know me,
And alone they comfort me.
They grace my steps in directions unknown, as I wrestle with the man inside coping with the lonely one outside.
Why does this heartbeat for two when there is only ever one, me?
No one stays around long enough, or when they do it is only to find a new face unbeknownst to me revealed far beyond the borders of familiarity and comfort before they depart with yet another piece of my soul.
It’s like a game of which I am unaware that I am even playing,
and its rules are forever obscured to me.
So alone I tread at half my vitality and vigor without my once had youth.
Once I was young,
But young no more am I.
Youth has evaded me.
I don’t want this anymore, but the road ahead of me beckons me more,
fate says so,
and destiny has already decided for me what I will learn next,
And destiny has a way of keeping these coals of heartache and agony burning just hot enough to catch fire to anything that comes onto me, but yet not enough to consume me.
Only my sanity.
O what is the fate of such a man?
My life at best is a series of unbegotten mysteries and lost dreams out of reach and out of time,
memories that can sober one from the strongest delusions,
and isolation that can swallow a man’s intelligence whole.
But yet still here I walk, and yet I keep moving, For all I can do is what is already written in the stars above me.
Copyright@Anthony Dean Corey
Posted 2:51 pm | Sunday, 21 November 2021
globalpoetandpoetry.com | Faruk Ahmed Roni
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