I can’t keep counting these seconds if I want to feel them

The hope is here inside my chest
it grows and swells and bursts
in a matter of moments
between the dazzling lights of the stage
and the rain soaked street
where dreams don’t morph into reality
and the door to this building closes behind me
turning the lights black and cold

And every high that precedes the fall
is like the blinking out of a star
a small death in my chest
that gives rise to grim poetry
and the kind of thoughts that see
1984 as the path of tomorrow

Because I’ve been fighting for better days
that have shrunk to better hours
that have turned to the fight for better minutes
and all I’m left with
are temporary better seconds
that turn to memories too soon
and the past never seems better
than the future

Because all these present moments
that become a million yesterdays
always leave me dissatisfied
waking up only to chase better seconds
in the hope they’ll turn into
better minutes
better hours
and better days
where I’m not starved of the poetry
I need most

© Indie Adams 2014