What Was

travel1

I try to remember

That September

I try to recall

Some, but not all

Of what was

Before

It seems hard

It drives me mad

I was sad

A stranger

In a strange land

Yet, not a nomad

I can see

Fading images

I can hear

Vanishing sounds

Where had I been?

Had that been, real?

What is real?

What I feel?

What you feel?

What is the big deal?

Nothing is clear

Life is a game

Without a name

Everything goes back

In the box

And you go

Six feet Under

No wonder

We try to shy away

Cling to illusions

Avoid setbacks

Yet, they come back

On track

Till you learn

Not to expect

Not to predict

A conflict

A misfit

A pleasure

Forever

How could that be?

A life without expecting?!

Play the game

Which has no name

Pretend to be

A hero

Then fall on your face

There’s no grace

But empty space

And just in case

You wonder:

“What’s the matter?”

There ain’t no matter

It’s all about

That September

Which I try

To remember

I feel somber

I no longer

Want to be

In a game

Without a name!

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About The Soaring Eagle

Entrepreneur, Investor, Solution Architect, Award-winning poet, Published author
This entry was posted in mystery, Nothingness and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to What Was

  1. A very interesting poem. I like it’ much food for thought.

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