productive nostalgia

archetypes are our fears

given voices, given chances

to bring us to tears

without speaking to years left behind

are you prepared to unwind

the cables of string theory

linking this life with continuous rewinds

a year in the past

keeps denying fears

from becoming regrets

a day in the life

stands stronger among the rest

pushing towards the best

keeping idols on pedestals is no way to look them in the eye

dreams become our benchmarks for understanding

ways to become truly free

through words, paralyzed by possibility

comparing the best moments

without ever having sight of the hurdles

to be overcome

dare we risk

reaching our goals

at the beginning of the end

I can't imagine who else to be

but in love with being on the mend

'he who does not weep does not see'

spoken by the miserable ones

to declare their desperation for clarity;

though pain can be overcome

we do not know

what benefit we can offer

to the greater good found in

 living, while in our time,

many use the energy they contain

demanding a breakthrough.

falling deeper into the gravity of assurance

keeps the strength I've summoned to be a greater

force than foresight can predict

the brevity of our experience cannot explain

how our desiring

can breathe new life

through eyes of enlightenment

through eager encouragement

healing hurts

and we are not told often enough

because it aches to consider

in moments of anguish

how things could possibly get worse

yet, many days of our life are spent knowing

we've got it pretty good

and no amount of gratitude can bring that happiness to light

once it has been erased.

kitsch-y desperation for understanding

leads us to hunt value in discount bins

and lonely breakdowns;

exasperated from false passion

learning  to make the best of leftovers

culture informs our lessons,

relearning importance in lost generations



why, why, why

Do you ever truly know what you've got til it's gone?

have you ever known a greater delight

than standing in the light

of a sun-soaked moon

reflecting wisdom into the night

determined to make everything right

capsizing the halos on our dreams

emboldening our life with changing seasons

finding ways to live, ending our failure by

remembering how to give

more than is asked

With that in mind, do we ever truly know home?

except as reflections in nighttime windows

and fleeting glimpses of memory

when we are weak, caught in a loop

idealizing the past

clinging with a fierce grasp more tightly

on the confusing past

rather than receiving an open future

with circumstances of our belief

we understand motive to be meek

yet pride haunts this daily churn,

always finding ways to spend what we earn

it may cost more than what you are paid,

we're told to do it anyways.

Keep doing it until the end of days.

Get used to goodbyes

they are evidence of ways we try.

better still, get used to quiet

it will always return

each time with more wisdom

and greater defeat

with hazards of helplessness our obstacles during

soulless fantasy

do you ever really know what was meant to be

or is that the greatest game we like to play?

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