I struggle to find my voice
In this infernal emptiness,
Echoing with the thoughts
Of time. The cloudiness
Of the future, liquid and
Vapour condensed to blind.
I once had the language,
Words to speak my mind,
And where words failed,
There were shifting sands
Of ever youthful passions,
Carried in the caring hands
Of lovers, mentors, friends.
Indestructible in my vitality,
Immune to the ravages of
Excess. Ah, the inequality
As I pay for the sins of the
Achilles child. He, who never
Planned for a life beyond
A day, a memory forever.
The paradoxical thoughts,
Those fears in the night
Of what I might become.
Now, in the cold stark light
Of day, I am very afraid of
What I am, the antithesis
Of all my hopes, the sum
Of all my fears. Gaseous
Words slip between fingers
No longer able to grip
Them. Words that I once
Held dear, fall and slip
From my tongue, lost
To me, now forgotten.
Feeble in time and soul.
Expectation is a burden.
The burden of a phrase
Painstakingly constructed
Over hours and days,
Dissected to its rotten
Core in minutes. Revealing
The shallow depths within
The heart, layers peeling
Back showing nought inside.
The shallowness I always
Feared I was. Standing,
Exposed, in a myriad greys,
No sparkling iridescence,
Just barren and broken
With memories of glory
And words long since spoken.
© Mark Stahlmann 2009
