Malaise derived from disobedience
is a false excuse, to be sure.
What, then, is the perpetrator?
Not love, no, nor preoccupation.
Sure, the fate of existence hangs
in the balance of disillusionment--
but is that reason enough to sit
and dwell upon bottomless presuppositions?
Never wholly useless, no, I prove
my worth time and time again--
Just not in ways that settle
my overwrought brain.
A gray mass of thoughtless brilliance
clouds my pointless productivity.
No comments:
Post a Comment