Time Changes All

"I watched as the icon fell,
during that solemn hour breathing felt like hell
helpless to stop the events in motion
hopeless to stop the surge of emotions
Screams of desperation, tears of separation
reaching out for an unfamiliar hand
offering hope to those who still can stand
grieving over such a loss, giving to all those who have lost"


There was once a time, when my passion for writing was so strong I could taste it in my mouth like salt. There was once a time I would have been the first to jump up in a crowded room where everyone else would idly sit on their hands.
I would fire up debates on how the Drug prohibition was unconstitutional, or the millions of people who are blinded by the fancy talk of our politicians yet to dumb or ignorant to actually watch what their political leaders would vote for or against. there was once a time when I would get disgusted at the amount of corruption seeping into our once great republic.

I have often wrote about how it felt like I had lived more then one lifetime in this body, this mind. How day and night would mesh together into an ugly portrait of my life. The burdens we carry every day only seem to get heavier as we march on, and as each step we take towards that light at the end of this tunnel it only seems to keep going on for miles and miles.


Nothing in my life seems to make any sense anymore, headaches that last for days on end, stiff muscles make it hard to even move and all my mind can seem to focus on is of a future, a dream that sometimes feels like an impossible feat. I awake to the same four walls staring back at me and again I feel as though I'm trapped within a cage of desolation. I sit on the edge of my bed and put a smile on my face, not for me but rather for those who are around me. I can feel the once dreaded depression knocking just on the other side of my soul, feeding off the discontent. Everyday it becomes an even harder struggle to not scream, to not pull my hair from its roots, pleading with anyone who would listen to lighten this load. Yet I know my cries will go unheard.

Giving up seems so easy, but I also know if I give up, not only will the misery take over but more than that, if I give up I let those who I care about most down. Some rock I turned out to be, hollow on the inside and cracked from the pressure. For the most part the strength I find to make it through the day ironically is found within the eyes of another.



Where has my passion gone?

Where is my path along this rocky road?

Where is that garden full of flowers to brighten this day?

and where has the time gone, to set all the wrongs right?