Hours pass,
and still we work,
moving slowly,
breathing earth:
dust that settles,
in our lungs,
where the fire
starts to burn,
and tear us down
in bitter shame,
leaving just
ourselves to blame.
Too long a time
was spent in sassing,
loafing, laughing,
and half-assing.
Nothing real
can be obtained,
through jokes
and jives and,
unstaked claims.
The soured souls
who cannot touch,
or be held close:
It hurts too much
to let a thought
creep in too deep–
something that riles you
while you sleep.
But then when warmth,
does trickle in,
you worry it will lead to sin–
the kind that brings you
to a place,
where nothing can
survive but hate,
and in your fear
of things to come,
you miss out
on the gift of love.
But be not sad
of this affair.
There are still hearts
who dream and dare,
and hope for something
so long-lasting,
too full to breathe
of any fasting.
But to those folks
of angry slurs,
cheating hearts,
those lying curs:
I implore you,
do not break another!
Don't drag a child
into the gutter!
Don't leave them in
that morning bed
waking, wondering,
dying, dead.
Rise up from deeds
that set us back!
Don’t reverse and speed
down evolution’s track–
your greed for power,
your greed for gold,
your greed for sex,
your greed untold
will swallow forever
what’s left of your soul,
consume it quickly
into a sink hole.
And once you’re inside,
it learns your dark name.
It enters your house.
It always remains.
You’ll find you’re aware
of old midnight trains
with whistles that blare,
and start you awake
like some old nightmare
that visits your brain
almost every night,
It’s always the same:
In your dark room it’s thumping
and you lose all your calm,
and then it starts bumping–
adrenaline pumps strong!
So you scream with your soul
and you take a big bite!
The blood pours and it rolls–
It’s a hell of a fight!
Then it laughs with a hiss
and coughs with a scowl,
and ties it all up
in a nursery rhyme cowl,
and you squint hard enough
to see under the hood,
and you ask, “Is that a Wolf?”
But it's well understood
that it's something quite worse!
It stalks you in day,
unseen and unheard
while you work and you play.
It's there at all times
through sweat
and through stress.
It watches you waiting.
You won't get your rest,
from the seething pitch void
that lives in your chest.
It won’t matter now
if you’re cursed or you’re blessed.
You will hear The Calling,
but give no reply.
This thing called Indifference
has eaten you alive.
David C. Roberson's Maladjusted Multiverse is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
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Love the grit of this.