Background Roar

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 29, 2018

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Submitted: September 29, 2018



Bismillah Ar Rahman Ar Raheem

In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful

It is a terrifying thing to be awake Every second alive to its potential Is a second more to watch it die As we lay idly by The undercurrent sound of the Universe A background hum Teasing the sonambulant Those who scatter by never perceive it Save in some reflective midnight wake Which is quickly brushed aside by women wine For women of course men The lion soul asleep in den The background roar of the universe Becomes a chant whispering I am slipping by The present, the only time you have To do and say everything that you Are supposed to do Supposed to do? Where is the personal guidebook? A draught to move these weary moods To action? My soul is sick or better yet On the cusp of inspiration I must die first to be reborn So why so much hesitation? This sensation of being alive Uncomfortable in my own skin Feeling itchy sweaty sore The brain feels depleted Every book an endless tome My work is never done Nothing is ever good enough Perfection is a myth Yet how is it that works were made The immense confidence of an artist to say Here it is! My work is finished! Finished? Finished implies completion. Completion implies perfection And nothing in this dust bowl is perfect Empires fade and a New Ozymandias is born next day Only to relive the same fate Are we just characters playing out tired roles? Repetitive roles to be repeated until the end of time They say time is an illusion The magician is change As I lay in my bed I realize that writing these feelings helps in understanding this eternal sadness, melancholy Sure I joke and jest and carry on as if I am enjoying myself and sometimes I fool even myself But how can I be enjoying the torture of being alive? Is every happy woman/man a masochist? To know that sickness, old age, and death await us all To know that we don't know what lies beyond the curtain of tomorrow To know that there will be pain and sorrow And no surcease, that even in sleep one has to look forward to nightmares That life isn't fair and that sometimes the best of men are beaten by less noble foes The indiscriminate bombings The hate filled faces The centuries old anger The lying politicians The conformity police The ridiculers and the mockers That a person can not even take a picture Without some nitwit having issues or poking fun They say I am an angry man Perhaps, but it wasn't always so If they knew my delight at being away from them They would be like me A 32 year old recluse Weary with the world Ready to emulate The background roar

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