While entering them, you may sometimes feel
that something is wrong,
but you still carry on
with uncomfortable commitments and the course of life,
stretched and interrupted ,
changed
into something else,
unrecognisable by the family,
locked for future
splendour, glamour, and grandeur
among paper thinness.
Words can be quiet, even when they shout.
Focusing is expensive, not everyone can afford it.
Time is precious and filled with meaning.
Our minds battle each night
for a better position in the rat race.
Ultimately, we all fall into the grip
of an evil that takes us away.
It pulls us away from the memories of the past,
but not towards what lies ahead.
When synapses take a break,
they renew themselves.
Meanwhile, I observe and listen
to my brain carefully.
It reveals patterns and charades,
replacing them with more likable and pleasant ones.
It displays rich and artistic thoughts,
avoiding superficial courtesy.
It sometimes leads to the wrong rooms
on this train where toxins mix
with disdain-coated meds.
---
Thank you for reading!
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
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Comments (2)
Love your poem!!
The way you describe focus as an expensive commodity and the unsettling feeling of losing control is deep. It's a raw and reflective take on the mind's struggles—definitely gives a lot to think about!