adventures in dysthymia

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Less, a poem

Less

Who could name the person
I yearned to become?
Add up all my past —
I’m less than the sum.

Nothing to be learned
from my deconstruction,
willing participant
in my own abduction,

making action movies
none will ever see,
setting off explosions
that maim only me.

Too late to be rescued
from the things I do;
let me drown again
trying to save you.

For it is the natural
state of all these things
to remain unnatural,
fly with stunted wings

in pursuit of nothing.
What’s left to assess?
Add me up again —
I remain far less

Stephen Brooke ©2016

This would be one of the poems that took a while, built line by line over several weeks, when I felt inspired to dabble at it. I come back to the WIP and may or may not get ideas to carry on with it. And, perhaps, better understand what it is about with each visit for, as is typical, it started with words and phrases in search of a concept.

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