He left home, headed west

Empty handed, a watch on his wrist

After four hours of walking

He needed some rest

His mind was on auto pilot

chewing over his whole life

he just realized

it’d been a complete waste

He’d been heading east

while he’s supposed to head west

He’d built a nest

but couldn’t keep the rest

from poking into his nest

Life, for him, has lost its zest

nothing tastes anything


He was told

Life is a test

He tried to follow the rules

But failed to adjust

His spirit has always been

somewhere else

Not in the test

He’s done what others

wanted him to do


He did not know the words

difficult or impossible

But he was playing roles

in a drama written

by someone else

Society could be a blessing

but could also be

A curse!

He finally collapsed

torn apart

between a mind that was struggling

to fit in the cursed society

and a spirit that was born

to be free

of all the illusions

No one could understand

No one cares to understand

When you fall down

You’ve got to pull

your own weight up

You’ve got

to figure it all out

On your own

But if you’re wounded

It becomes much more difficult

To get up, and walk again

You need care

which is very rare

Talk is cheap

Yet no one can really spare

that kind of care

It’s a special care

He was also told:

Life is not fair

All his life

He’d been trying to prove that wrong

But now, he sees it

with his own eyes

Yes, life is not fair

Only God is fair

He finally found a motel

He checked in for one night

He doesn’t know

what’s next

All he knows

He can’t put faces

to the stupid world


And That Is That…


About The Soaring Eagle

Entrepreneur, Investor, Solution Architect, Award-winning poet, Published author
This entry was posted in Soul, The End. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to West

  1. salma says:

    The rhyme in this one is well balanced it gives it flow fav line hes been heading east while he was supposed head west tho I do wonder father is the world as cruel you see the world of art meaning novels movies cartoons pose and poetry is divided between those that cry of the grim reality of the world and those that sing about the classical happily ever afters or does it depend really on the eyes of the writer and what he saw of the world or what the world showed him though I agree with you that talk is easy and that care is rare and perhaps we need to be more aware of that

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