Motions of the Worn and the Used

Moving takes time, takes pain,
From one corner of the room to the other.
Running, walking, crawling, struggling;
Clawing at the ceiling just to get by.




The world tosses you one way
Pushes you the other, a never ending spin cycle.
Alone, most of the time, bells ringing;
Guitar tones drowning out cries of agony.

You fight to earn your keep, a battle.
A war, between the you of tomorrows,
The you of today, and the you of days gone by.
Wanting their time in the limelight.

But you pick up the shattered fragments.
Because that's the only thing you know how to do.
And then it's back to the painful motions, the grinding;
The day to day struggles that make and define you.

Because that's the only thing you know how to do.

---

My emo days are not big favorites of mine, but days of yonder past have weird ways of kicking you in the back, reminding you of times when you're not really sad, nor angry, just jaded and bored of the day to day menagerie. I guess today my past has caught up to me, nostalgia maybe or reminiscence. It does not feel great at all, but it takes you back, pulls you back.

I guess recently my source of hope and my source of joy has been... Distant. But to be more accurate, it's more like I'm distancing myself away from my source of hope and joy, deliberately or otherwise. With the way the world works, the way it spins, it's harsh realities, you get caught and you forget. You remember how reality bites, how reality sucks, how things just has to go the way it's going because, hey, it's the only thing you know how to do.

And that is very very saddening.

I miss my guitar. I miss singing worship songs to myself (I'm not a very good singer after all), moved to tears by how the lyrics speak to me and how the notes and the chords all ring aloud in my heart and resonate with my soul. I miss that happy, warm feeling that I used to feel when I play those songs, when I feel like someone is actually watching over me and supporting me.

It's weird, really, how God works so differently from the world, and how stupid one would look to the world if one chooses to follow God. Worries and problems, they don't disappear, and God wouldn't always directly solve them for you. However, you get this confidence - no - this peace. This peace that you just instinctively know - reassured even - that someone out there will take care of you and help you out.

And all I really needed to do was to go back to Him.

I really hope this would be the last grimly themed poem I would have to write in a long while.