Trudge

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Day by night, night to day,

going through the motions,

literally bored to death,

day by day by day.

Sleep and wake, work and play,

thrill seeking, joking, singing,

anything to relieve monotony,

inherent in the moments.

It is beyond boredom,

a feeling of plasticity,

of not really belonging,

never going home.

Triviality, nonsense, business,

to busy oneself out of the boredom

that survival can become.

Acquiescence, growing older,

settling in habitual hauntings.

Casual acceptance of lies

told to oneself.

Lies of belief and dreams.

Open your eyes, look around.

I see, desperation, poverty,

wanton spite thrives,

miserably, anxiously,

pride, lust, mostly fear.

Fear in every glance,

and boredom overwhelming

the entire scene......

A last breath of summer,

he soothes and heals us.

When the suns burning

passions are ebbed,

the moon, pale matron,

smiles her love upon us,

and till dawn, makes us

free, unfettered.

Ah, the blessed morn,

awakening the prisms,

rekindling their rainbows,

and lilting mankind to

action flame.

Father sun, he makes

love to our mother,

the earth recreating life,

blessed be their union,

they dance, and so too

we love the day, our home,

for so many centuries.

Nite, the final frontier of man,

he beckons, he calls that

self same life of day.

So share his peace,

so revel in shadow.

Do not fear,

for the nite, your brother,

loves you.

This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.