Sighs

Sighs

There are days I want to quit my poetry

Then I have to ask the question “why?”

It seems no one really reads it much

No one really cares

It seems if there’s no wild video attached

Nothing that catches stares

Then it is to be avoided, discarded

We can’t be wasting time with things that don’t waste our time

I must ask the question “Why?” again

But this time for why I write to begin

With

See, I get to play with words

I get to express my joys

Wrestle with concerns

I guess it really doesn’t matter if it’s read or not

Though it would be nice to see who’s in the same lot 

As I 

I sit here and release a sigh

That seems to come from a deeper place

I wonder if my soul, my face

Will ever find what it’s meant to be looking for

A random line, a menial chore

All these things seem to break into the existence

A copied lung, a bleak resistance

I go dwelling in worlds I know nothing about

Places where quiet, not screams or shouts

Tend to draw the most attention

Do you ever sense the power of tension?

I surely do. Every day.

It seems to be the life, the way

Of living life like there is no tomorrow