An Uplifting Poem About Aging Dreams and Aspirations

**the title may or may not be a lie

What the f**k am I doing?
I thought all this was for something?
The pain.
The agony.
The tragedy.
Those times I left behind a part of me.

I've been writing for oh so long,
But none of this s**t's become a song.
No one to sing it.
No one to read it.
No one cares to hear these words
That spill from my heart.
Just wanna go back to the start.

Stop that ambitious little mind.
The dreams oh how they feel a crime.

I thought that this was power.
My destiny,
But it only fuels
My aging anxiety.

Why give me this, oh god,
This brain that just won't stop?
These rhymes and phrases
When I have got no places
To air them out.
They get so loud.
Please, take them now
Before I drown
In this syncopated sound.

I cannot stop my fingers typing.
Can't prevent the need inside me.
It's a screaming voice in my skull
That shouts my secrets through the halls
Where shaky hands will draw and scrawl
Till they find their way to padded walls.

Aspirations undignified.
The dreams have died with time
With every unspoken line.
The couplets partially rhyme
With pursuits paid as ransom.
The time for me is gone.
The prodigy is done.
Now, too old to die young.

Delusions of grandeur-
They used to feel so pure.
I thought that I'd make it for sure.

These thoughts left me unmoored.
With the need to feel secure,
Such musings felt so immature.
It's for this that they could not endure.

But I've found there is no cure
For rhythmed meter, my amour.
And these verses will read forced
Till my voice rasps out it's last vapours.

I thought I'd see my name written as an artist of my day,
But I think instead that I will simply decay and fade away.
Those words that I spoke and wrote to never be seen again,
And the one's I failed to write will softly rot inside my head.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I am more Salinger than Hemingway. I like the private life.
"I thought I'd see my name written as an artist of my day,
But I think instead that I will simply decay and fade away.
Those words that I spoke and wrote to never be seen again,
And the one's I failed to write will softly rot inside my head."
People or writers who seek to be recognized. Become heartbroken. We must write for ourselves and we hope. Someone enjoy our work. Hello my friend and thank you for sharing your words and your thoughts.
Coyote

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we cannot prevent our own need to write...and we all hope to have our name etched as one of the artists of our day...but most of us understand we will never achieve this...we write on...
the muse endures even after we do not.
and actually many would care to hear these words...because they have had these very thoughts...i think many "artists" have.
j.