Wastes
Why does every day feel like tomorrow
And tomorrow never comes?
Where is my light?
Where is my sanity?
For what purpose does it serve
That I should sink ever more into the wastes of time?
It is never today
It is always a blur
Standing still and moving
All the same
An arch
An echo of every moment
Ringing in my ears
Always tomorrow today
Never yesterday
No matter how much I will it.
Is it real?
Is time an eternal moment
A loop
A line?
Is there an end
Or just an everlasting repetition
Of moments monotonous
And always in the dark
Never seeing where they lead?
I shall not know.
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We get bored of doing the same thing every day. Make an effort to make a difference. Make a plan merely to be productive. ❤️
Hola Poeta @driptorchpress. Aquí estoy disfrutando tus versos complejos, profundos y excelsos. Son toda una invitación y seducción a la introspección y al discurrir en los pensamientos. Somos partes o porciones de un todo, quizás en buen sentido como una sinonimia de residuos, pero con una salvedad, somos porciones colmadas de esencia. Según mi mirada, tu poema impregna en su génesis, las comprensiones e incomprensiones de la temporalidad, de la cual no podemos ninguno de nosotros escapar y diría que sentenciados por siempre. Indagaciones a la fecha, muchas sin respuestas.Fue un gusto.
Hasta otra oportunidad.
Feliz semana para tí y los tuyos.
No one is ever complete or prefect. There is always one aspect that is missing. Men would take the front line to seek that which they feel is gone.