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-----------------------------------------
Key Of Keys - ©2022 by (((Trevor Patrick)))
Every key
is its very
own mystery...
* * * *
Does it lead
to a hidden
box?
Or
some
secret
door
unlocked?
|| ||
Perhaps
a prisoner
set free?
Or something
you're not
allowed
to see?
|| ||
No hope
of finding
a combination-
much less
a sudden
realisation
|| ||
that some
mysteries
are never
solved
some histories
never resolved
|| ||
or destructive
attitudes
never evolved
or revolutions
that revolve...
* * *
...all the way
back around
and smack you
in the face
and the new boss
(same as the old boss)
asks you
(so rhetorically//
so metaphorically)
"How DARE you
forget your place?!?"
...That mystery
key in your hand
and ultimately
empty promises
of dream//mirages
you set off to chase
and all the time you waste
choking on
failure's bitter taste
'til there finally
comes a day
you come to your senses
and throw that
mystery key away.
...and you
wish all the
best of luck
to the next
sucker that
picks it up.
-----------------------------------------
Key Of Keys - ©2022 by (((Trevor Patrick)))
Every key
is its very
own mystery...
* * * *
Does it lead
to a hidden
box?
Or
some
secret
door
unlocked?
|| ||
Perhaps
a prisoner
set free?
Or something
you're not
allowed
to see?
|| ||
No hope
of finding
a combination-
much less
a sudden
realisation
|| ||
that some
mysteries
are never
solved
some histories
never resolved
|| ||
or destructive
attitudes
never evolved
or revolutions
that revolve...
* * *
...all the way
back around
and smack you
in the face
and the new boss
(same as the old boss)
asks you
(so rhetorically//
so metaphorically)
"How DARE you
forget your place?!?"
...That mystery
key in your hand
and ultimately
empty promises
of dream//mirages
you set off to chase
and all the time you waste
choking on
failure's bitter taste
'til there finally
comes a day
you come to your senses
and throw that
mystery key away.
...and you
wish all the
best of luck
to the next
sucker that
picks it up.
This is another bitter grump born of Midlife Crisis angst. It's probably come out a great deal gloomier and more pessimistic than I'd intended, but sometimes such writing is therapeutic, like lancing a boil, if that makes any sense.
One of the hardest things about getting older is the forced realsation that while some dreams will occasionally come true, most of them will not. Some unfulfilled dreams are like holding on to a key for a lock that you have no idea where, or how to find, and no matter what you do, and no matter how hard you try, you can never find even the slightest clue of where to find the lock or the door that that key opens.
Letting go of such dreams is often an incredibly hurtful (yet necessary) process... Sometimes it feels akin to some spiritual equivalent of cutting out tumours that have become malignant. Because, some dreams do indeed become toxic and/or malignant if held onto too tightly and for far too long, and for the sake of your long-term mental health, they need to go.
As I said in a previous piece, sometimes dreams are dangerous...
One of the hardest things about getting older is the forced realsation that while some dreams will occasionally come true, most of them will not. Some unfulfilled dreams are like holding on to a key for a lock that you have no idea where, or how to find, and no matter what you do, and no matter how hard you try, you can never find even the slightest clue of where to find the lock or the door that that key opens.
Letting go of such dreams is often an incredibly hurtful (yet necessary) process... Sometimes it feels akin to some spiritual equivalent of cutting out tumours that have become malignant. Because, some dreams do indeed become toxic and/or malignant if held onto too tightly and for far too long, and for the sake of your long-term mental health, they need to go.
As I said in a previous piece, sometimes dreams are dangerous...
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 993 B
...That mystery
key in your hand
and ultimately
empty promises
of dream//mirages
you set off to chase
and all the time you waste
choking on
failure's bitter taste
That whole stanza/part is literally me realizing my dream of wanting to become a translator is much too late and the older I get the little patience I have to pursue it any longer.
That aside, love how this speaks and touches my pessimistic soul but it's so relatable. It sucks to feel this way but hey, love this poem~
key in your hand
and ultimately
empty promises
of dream//mirages
you set off to chase
and all the time you waste
choking on
failure's bitter taste
That whole stanza/part is literally me realizing my dream of wanting to become a translator is much too late and the older I get the little patience I have to pursue it any longer.
That aside, love how this speaks and touches my pessimistic soul but it's so relatable. It sucks to feel this way but hey, love this poem~
I actually felt this work might have been just a bit too gloomy and pessimistic to actually post, especially because I haven't openly and/or explicitly stated the resolution, namely that I don't believe that someone should discard or destroy all their dreams, merely those ones that, over time, have become toxic and/or dangerous. It's sort of like the idea of the Mirror of Erised from the Harry Potter novels.
Sometimes life circumstances coming from a number of both inside and outside factors, combined with increasing age, will eventually force one's hand, and for good or ill, we have to make the best of what we've got.
And yeah, sometimes that really sucks, and is a terrible and bitter pill to swallow.
Just like sometimes the only prize and source of pride that one can have is to know (even if only within themselves), that you are a survivor.
When I call you 'Strong Sistah', I'm not saying that to try and be hip or trendy. I call you that because I can see that you are a survivor, and your words are the gift you have that you will not compromise on.
Obviously I've never walked in your shoes, and to believe that I could is arrogant at best. Still, I can recognise and understand that many of the roads you've trod through life have been rocky and treacherous ones. That, at least, I can recognise, having trod more than a few of my own. Our roads and paths may be different, but I can recognise those commonalities at least.
For that reason as well, I always cherish those moments with folks such as yourself, when my own words can resonate across those commonalities. :)
As always, stay golden, Strong Sistah.
Sometimes life circumstances coming from a number of both inside and outside factors, combined with increasing age, will eventually force one's hand, and for good or ill, we have to make the best of what we've got.
And yeah, sometimes that really sucks, and is a terrible and bitter pill to swallow.
Just like sometimes the only prize and source of pride that one can have is to know (even if only within themselves), that you are a survivor.
When I call you 'Strong Sistah', I'm not saying that to try and be hip or trendy. I call you that because I can see that you are a survivor, and your words are the gift you have that you will not compromise on.
Obviously I've never walked in your shoes, and to believe that I could is arrogant at best. Still, I can recognise and understand that many of the roads you've trod through life have been rocky and treacherous ones. That, at least, I can recognise, having trod more than a few of my own. Our roads and paths may be different, but I can recognise those commonalities at least.
For that reason as well, I always cherish those moments with folks such as yourself, when my own words can resonate across those commonalities. :)
As always, stay golden, Strong Sistah.
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