94.

Existence is like butterflies and rain amidst in,
Intangibles distant.

Never quite touching, but always nearby if you listen… Striving for things that glisten;
Is like striving while being rigid.

I pick in, and rather pick out;
Ideas that rather stick out.

Soaked in all of this water’s stream of rain.
It’s like being caught up in a stream of pain.

My consciousness is rather stained,
With goals I’d like to obtain.

But my consciousness is rather drained,
By things I’d like to paint.

My artistry and success drive conflicts,
Amidst the bliss that’s found in survival.

Will I live or die,
will I swim or fly.

I think that I’ll do both.

While keeping in mind, all of the things that I wish to strive to.

Will I miss and cry?
Will I win or collide —
Against the brick walls.

Such thick walls, covering my attentive mindset.

I write this poem, as a preventive preset.
When I go to the gym, it is like a spiritual reset.

Gathering all of my energy back, for when I leave… Things will eventually feel like a sudden breeze… And my spiritual journey is something I am right back on.

Simultaneously living, in a world that is hard to stay on track.

A straight and narrow journey, it is hard to stay on that… But I am flawed and simply human.
I am jawed, in tough challenges I am constantly chewing.

Throwing around in my mouth, trying to grasp the fact that this ideal isn’t worth killing my self for.

If not to live, then what else for?

Do I strive and do I work…
My pride sometimes hurt, but this ride is it’s worth… So I will strive and I will search,
Keeping a balance, like beams of saw.
And I will blow air with the seams of straw, against the fire of goth.

My spirit is sometimes sloth, but I will prevail in this beautiful life.

Perhaps, one day find a beautiful wife.

And live a life that I would indeed, live happily twice…