Power

Power went out for about an hour. Without anything to do, one often faces himself.

I haven’t written in a while,

Almost feels like I’ve forgotten,

Absent were the sounds of silence,

Sweet reprieve for a mind that’s rotten.

 

There is no power,

That very spark that brings man light,

Its absence now liberates me,

At least for a single hour.

 

Silence demands that I acknowledge,

It has been some time since I died,

I buried the man I could be,

And never once for him I cried.

 

No noise to hear, nor views to see,

That would keep my mind distracted,

Against my will, like a haunting,

The topic falls back to me.

 

There is nothing that could save me,

From facing that scornful glare,

Of the dreams that I’ve discarded,

As if they were never there.

 

It never leaves, that feeling wicked,

That grips my mind and soul at night,

Robbing sleep from the restless,

When there’s no noise, when there’s no light.

 

Yet each day anew I drown it,

Like a fool with efforts vain,

Ignoring facts and hoping blindly,

Not to face it ever again.

 

It is strange then how much I crave,

These moments when I’m alone,

Like I’ve risen from deep slumber,

My own choices to bemoan.

 

None but me holds the answers,

Yet still, when asked, I cannot tell,

For I don’t know if I’ll ever escape,

This pit in which I’ve placed myself.

 

All the things I’ve told myself,

As power slowly returned,

Will be left to burn unanswered,

Never over, just adjourned.