LETTER TO MYSELF

Standard

By Tom H. Brooks 3

 

Every ending is a new beginning

every beginning

the start of a new ending

only to continue this cycle

on and on

forever…

 

 

 

no stopping

birth   life   death

birth

death

life again

it seems mad and crazy

this endless seeking

this constant wondering

chasing dreams

crushing them

inventing new excuses

for doing nothing at all

and yet always

so very very busy

all of us

wrapped up in our own lives

our own private worlds

(all the same stories anyway

when all is said and done…)

Each day is both routine

AND limitless

anything can happen at any second

and it will…

it is all insanity.

There are no answers

carved in stone

save the ones we invent for ourselves

There are no formulas

no equation could explain this chaos

Each day you are dying slowly

each day you are living fast

we are all stuck together

on this spinning blue-green sphere

hurtling through the cosmos

The universe spins

on its infinite axis

light streams through

the vacuum of space and time

Our lives are but

a speck of cosmic dust

borne on the solar winds

given importance only by ourselves

(quite an ego we have,

I might add…………..)

and still we give so much

and take so much

to and from

this existence we lead

This road will take us

some unexpected places

and someday we will look back

and try to see where we started

and realize that we are

still at the beginning

because time is a circle, not a curve…

(“no one told you when to run,

you missed the starting gun.”)

Why, oh why

does everything always

have to keep changing like this?

and yet-ROUTINE,

the slow and silent killer,

the assassin of all that is freedom…

The excruciating agony

of arising at dawn (or at all)

for tedious work

monotony

the ticking of the blood clock

to our own doom$…

the

cold

hollow

pain

of

loneliness

that clenches the heart

in an iron vice grip…

fragile tears

that shatter

like glass

on cold dark asphalt

sparkling

under

a pool of ghost light

from a lone streetlamp

Boots echo

on empty night sidewalks

and rats scamper through

shadows within shadows

Icy wind blows

through your very soul

and you wonder

why you ever bothered

to get out of bed at all…

Sometimes

when you retire to sleep at night

you don’t care

if you ever wake up

the next morning

all that awaits

more of the same stories

same faces

same places

same fucking job-

but

YOU DO GET UP

and you DO go on

plowing over obstacles

like an unstoppable juggernaut.

There simply must be a reason

for this madness.

Despite your melancholy

you find a bittersweet humor

in many things

and your enthusiasm often

outshines

your darkness

The least little things

seem to amuse you

in the strangest ways

Everything

is an adventure

A walking paradox

a riddle

a box of jewels

an emotional rollercoaster

a shooting star

streaking

across a twilight sky

I exist

I am alive

 

 

 

STOP

 

 

 

A QUIET MOMENT

PLEASE

TO PONDER

THESE THINGS I SAY…

 

 

 

The monologue goes on and on

the hum of life

the rhythm of the blood

the heartbeat of humanity

Billions of voices

disembodied

floating faceless

into the void

of endless space

melting into the jungles

sunken in deep ocean gorges

lost in the blue

of the bluest skies

The sun beating down

and the cool rains

giving green life

to what’s left of nature

And we continue

our tiny routines

in

our tiny lives

and

we talk about ourselves…

 

 

 

every day you are dying slowly

every day you are living fast

 

 

 

Every ending is a new beginning

every beginning

the start of a new ending

only to continue this cycle

on and on

forever…

 

 

 

 

THB3

 

 

 

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