Poet Ghost

It’s days as these,
When I am sunk deep in between a dream and a daily aspiration.
I must forgo my desires will and blend with the masses.
As if a tuna in a school that swims these dark and foreboding seas,
A feeling comes over me to lull my needs.
I pacify the discontent and drift into insignificant attitudes to reach a plateau and avoid more of this cultures meaningless monetary misdeeds.

I’m running on empty
With half a heart,
And a wounded soul.
It begs and wanes for hours upon hours, years upon years,
Patiently waiting for a saviors reprieve.
But, There is no rest for the wicked and weary. To soldier on is a curse I endure. Collapse is always close at hand, until I hear that Poet Ghost in my head. His echo ringing true in my ear, that I’ve got promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

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