When do I recognize I’ve had enough
after years of never really knowing how to decide,
what makes it worthwhile,
this it, this piece of our lives,
this need to demonstrate always
while this hollow reality aches inside.
When only the quaking fear of my psyche
takes over anything else,
whether it matters or whether it isn’t even real,
my mind will play with the moment,
and let me wallow in the shame
of never really understanding how easy life might be.
I chose to take a difficult route the day I became alone
within a crowd of thousands,
there I stood in the center of everything feeling
the wrath of my society bend its will,
in order to pummel my own confusion
with diatribe after diatribe of nonsensical air.
I wonder if I might ever really fathom
hours of lost time,
considerations that might leave others blind
with fury or madness or ill met resolve,
the burden of the human condition
never really being realized, floating askance.
It was in the dawn of my 25th year
when reality spoke only of its burden
and the charmed life,
the one just on the other side of the fence
would only chuckle the nearer I stood
knowing forever I would struggle to find me.
© Thom Amundsen 3/2021