Cynicism Conceived

Cynicism Conceived

Gravel dust motes
Float upon spring night air;
The waning half moon
Slides behind darkened thunderheads

The soft light fades.
Maybe a light rain
To wash away the grime,
Of yet another day wasted.

The pace of life is slow
Still, the days breeze on by
Leaving me bereft of yet
Another bite of this bland soup.

All the spices
Settled upon the bottom
Of a twenty year old Dutch oven.
Middle age will be better?

More than likely not,
For I am a creature ever wanting

The elusive.
The intangible.

The ghosts of a little girl’s dreams
And the lusts of a misguided teenager.

Yearning inside, never ceasing
As a fist closes around the heart
Squeezing.
Eyes well with tears

Never spilt.
For though my
Weaknesses are many
My mind struggles

To gain logic over emotion.
A cynic is conceived

Parasitical to the heart
Hibernating ‘till time is ripe
The seed of it is growing
The roots strong and soaking

Up the Spring Rain,
While it is flowing.
Hurt will do that do the heart,
I think;

As thunder is released,
The rain pours down
Blurring my form
Behind tomorrow.