the art of being alive by not living

the clock - it strikes,

I hear the sound,

reminds me of the peace,

I never found.

 

Hours, years,

they passed me by,

strongly believing,

I would never die.

 

Digits go fast,

the seconds flee,

I watch them go,

taking my glee.

 

Locked in a world,

of empty mind,

made an unable wretch,

born to lag  behind.

 

realized too late,

the precious core,

of loneliness itself,

the ability to soar.

 

My self- esteem I sell,

to those who know the way,

I envy and dream,

to get there one day.

 

Youth with its beauty,

gone- not to return,

I choke on my tears,

as the nightmares churn.

 

I missed the fact,

of the simple clock,

that inside my head,

causes despair and shock.

 

I hate myself,

for the disabled thought,

for all the art of living,

I have never been taught.

 

Repenting my youth,

for not having been,

I will die without life,

in the ugliest scene.                               -a- (04/10/2007)

Reviews

[Joseph - Michael]

We all get that feelings. Most of us still complaining. Some of us moved on. Only few of us just simply gave up

Anyway, the way I see everything, you really put everything down pretty good, so no worries...

[Marie]

Nice.

[PhoeniX]

this was good. but i saw how you rhymed in most of the poem but not all. your thought and feeling was put out well.