Old poetry, just found. I wrote it in 2011.
Rolled
There's been a g a p in my head for a long time now;
It showed truth, and dreams, and lies.
It showed faith, and hate, and conceit.
It showed myself, in 3D, Colour Vision quality.
It taught me that life is worth living, and burning.
But now, "I grow old ..."
I open my mind and that black gap is free for filling (and emptying) as I please.
"I grow old ... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled",
if the weather dictates it.
And so here I sit, surrounded by all my old shit.
With all my old aches, and habits, and addictions.
And I try to tell myself that things have
Changed.
Now I can do anything; "it's not about proving yourself,
it's about being the best that you can be."
Maybe this is just me?
But I am alone and the lazy lie
falls on deaf ears.
If everything has changed, then why am I still lingering here?
Is it the taste of last night's drugs still slowing down my veins?
Can't I just snap my fingers and have my life back on the path from before I met him?
Ten years of wasted life and hope and goals.
How do I reclaim that?
How do I possibly take this withered life that has dropped into my own
and build it back up to where I was?
Is it possible to reclaim my already (part)wasted potential?
I shall settle in and make my presence known.
In some undefinable future time, I am sure, I will have faith,
The human voices will come calling -
To wake me, or let me drown.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (T.S. Eliot) for reference:
1:
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
2:
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
