Torn Soul and Broken Mind: A collection of Short Poems Under The Same Title

I.

Day after day, hiding under the

Waves that barely cover us,

From prying eyes,

That look for something

To reveal to the world,

Something that will bring us down

From our towers of gold.

II.

Tricking our minds into believing

That once again, we are happy.

Twisting and shaping our minds,

Like wax, into different shapes

And different forms.

Frantically searching for something

That is not there.

Crying into the darkness,

But there is no one there,

And no one listening.

III.

Distractions of temporary ecstasy.

The people come running to us,

Looking for a share of that temporary joy.

But, its gone too soon, there is nothing left,

Nothing left at all.

They turn away, looking for that joy,

Looking for a reason to stay but there is no reason!

Why should they stay if there is no joy,

Why should they stay if we only push them away and then

Beg for them to stay, beg for them to come back.

But they leave, not once thinking about how we will live.

Not once thinking about how we are just waiting for this opportunity to explode.

How if they stayed, we would be freed from these ropes,

But they don’t consider it.

They leave us trapped in our own minds,

In our own thoughts,

That poison our whole beings.

We cannot run anymore,

We cannot hide.

What is left in life to live for,

Who is left?

IV.

The words are blurry on the pages in front of us,

Life is just a blurry page of stories,

Of photographs, of memories,

We live in the neverending world of the stories

Of the people who have lived and died,

The people who have contributed their own stories,

To the blurry page I can never read.

We spend our time analyzing these stories over and over again,

And while this is happening we become the stories,

We become the dusty photographs that are stored in the attics of old houses.

We become the memories passed down generation from generation.

We will all become stories, we will all become a part of that blurry page,

We will all become only a memory and then not even that anymore.

V.

It happens over and over again, the excitement of a new season,

Carving pumpkins, raking leaves,

It happens every year,

preparing for the holidays, new clothes, new food, new lives.

And then it’s over.

The pumpkins lie rotting in the backyard, forgotten by everyone,

Despite how much we loved them, just weeks before.

Does anyone else find it scary, how humans give up things like that so easily?

Does anyone else find it scary how we forget these things,

How we move on and then repeat those things, over and over and over again.

Everything in this world has a pattern, a schedule, a routine,

That it follows, no matter what, am I the only one starting to feel like I’m stuck?

Stuck in the routine of life?

We fear death, not knowing what's there,

Thinking we are going to be stuck while watching something over and over again,

But am I the only one starting to feel like I am the living dead?

Watching the same things happen over and over again,

Watching history repeat itself,

Watching as people say the same words over and over again.

Watching the same routine of life, of a day

Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner.

Birth, Preschool, Elementary School, Middle School, High School, College, Work, Marriage, Retirement, Death.

Over and over and over again, I feel so trapped.

And I don’t know how to escape.

When will it end, and how will it end?

Who will be the first to break free of the ropes holding fast to our minds.

Who will be the first to break into the safe that holds the key to our freedom?

Who will be the first to break free from this neverending routine that has us trapped

Inside our own minds.