deepundergroundpoetry.com

twenty six years

twenty six years
it is clear I've made my bed
twenty six years
and I'm as close to the end
as I ever was
the rag hangs drenched
my ways are still blemished
and I'm no closer
to understanding my purpose
or positioning on this planet
than I ever was

twenty six years
and I'm light-years away from my peers
twenty six years
and I love myself no more
than all the time before my conception
between then and now
I'm alive somehow
neither accident or diagnosis
have thrown in my towel
yet I'm no closer to the end
as I ever was
and I won't see it
I don't know when

twenty six years
given into not wandering
twenty six years
and I'm squandering the days
not paying my way
as I've done for the last six
paving no way, no road
holding my fate, waiting for it
to enfold when rather
it must be forced
be honed and yet I say
my bones must rest
they've taken their course
but surely
twenty six year old bones
can take much more before
they break
this heart to take much more
before it stops beating

twenty six years
of deceiving and I'm no less keen on
quitting than I ever was
twenty six years
of not believing and I'm no less keen on
beginning to than I ever was