I’m afraid for us,
That your passions have made you passionless
And your blistering avidity for life makes you blinded
The goals and ambitions so tangible in your heart
But the obsession diminishes your perception
Things you used to love fall behind.
I can remember,
The ideas and predilections that once defined you
And the potential conceptions half conceived
When settling into a niche seemed unbearably futile
But we imagined for ourselves endless possibilities
If life were but a stage as we believed.
Do you believe?
That life’s confinements shackle you to this specialty?
That to overcome your demons you must succeed?
Perhaps the struggle to overcome defeats the purpose
Or maybe you’re just not as cynical as me.
When curtains close, we’ll sow as has been reaped.