I don’t often do poetry here on Show Me, but today I find myself in the place I hate, yet seem to find inescapable… that limbo of the cloistered artist (or writer, in this case): free time.
When I didn’t have a full-time job, this limbo would burn itself out through natural means until I’d have nothing else to do but write. However, now that I work full-time, I need to recover (which I never seem to do completely) from my taxing job first, which pushes the “free time” segment further back in my time schedule. By the time I get to it, it’s just an odious purgatory that counts down the time until I get released only to a different sort of ominous prison… work.
Anyway, it inspired this short poem…
I’m in that special, awful place – the limbo of my mind:
Where my best dreams and hopes and goals are all left far behind.
It’s cool here, but the air is stale – I’ve breathed it o’er and o’er,
And I will just do nothing, like so many times before.
Like pris’ners in a Sartre play, I can’t open the door;
The will is mine, the thing’s to do – and yet I do no more.
It seems I’m trapped forever here, this world of my own making;
‘Til scripts of drugs and scheduled work call me to my back breaking.
Sorry for that, readers… just had to get it off my chest.
And here I thought I was done with sorrowful poetry after high school. Heh – no such luck.
Thanks for reading.
I do enjoy knowing that you all are there.