Friday 24 August 2012

Moments


Here is an old poem I wrote years ago about the unwanted impact of what I call doldrums days.

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These are the moments when I hate myself the most.

These are the moments…

When all my dreaming, all my pretending, all my games and gimmicks are inevitably exhausted, and all I’m left with is myself… and myself just isn’t enough.

When every avenue of expert time-wasting has been elaborately explored. When every pocket of procrastination has been persistently pursued. When every nook and cranny of new cravings has been tried and tested, each one with reverse results of ultimate unfulfillment..

These are the moments…

When all my insufficiencies, every insecurity and any inability become all too apparent.

When the day nears it’s end, all is done, all is said- When I have nothing left to give and emptiness fills my weary head.

These are the moments…

Of ifs, buts and maybes. What ifs, why nots and how comes.

Of almosts , not quite theres and nearlys. So close, yet still not done.

And yet…

These are the moments…

When I’m under no illusions. When I’m plagued by no intrusions. Too tired for apprehensions and I simply can be me.

When I feel no vain ambition, numbed to peace by this attrition, and I give myself permission, simply just to be.

These are the moments…

When I’m so numb I begin to really feel. Falsehoods all exposed and finally I’m feeling real.

When I’m dumb, seeing no need to speak. When I’m done, so I can get some sleep.

When I am, at last, authentic. When I have thought, and know I meant it.

When the game is up and this leg of the race is run.
When I take my mask off and view my own true face as another day is done.

These are the moments…

When the façade of meaninglessness finally begins to mean less than what actually is and who I actually am, and I’m happy with the fact that I’m becoming a good man, for it’s a fact I finally  grant acceptance,… a split-second after my self-rejections.

Though uneasy, I’m content, finding solace in lament.
Finding wisdom in uncomfortable realism- of more substance than my blind idealism.

These are the moments…

These are the moments when I love myself the most.

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