all I've ever known is this, 
this seemingly endless musing.

I may make it

although there's nothing wrong with wanting it to end.
but it was cruel 
waking each day to be greeted
by the blankness of another page

why would the simplest of tasks
make me stumble over words?
Why do I have to daily defragment my mind though so exhausted?
why can't the other day be the end?

I wondered, because I never knew

never knew what's right from wrong
nor the right next rung
what to write when there's nothing left,
washing my doubts and fears
like dried blood on a club
singing loud and clear the song
I'd planned to sing when today's come

I can make it

On the seventy seventh,
I'd wave my wand and cast the spells
all rituals observed and fears expelled
one more, yet another, and another,
pretend, that all is well
so no one can tell
I got a share of wordruptcy,
and in someway somehow
the days, the delays, the doubts,

I made it

though I never thought much of what it takes
to wake each day this challenge,
I certainly saw some pretty dark days 
of fair shares of heartbreaks,
of smooth sails on rough waves,
of silence's deafening shockwaves,
but the Lord has blessed me in many ways.

I made it

waddling through emptiness,
and staggering disappointments.
In the shadows of loneliness
and many blessed moments.

I made it,

to the end, crossing hopelessness,
and the constant critic in my head,
pray tell, why can't I just lay down on cloud nine
and let my pens fall silent around me
while I nap, maybe forever
floating in the wings of victory?

I made it!

Enjoyed reading? 
Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!