Poetic muse

My continued occupance of this same spot for years is a damning inditement to my desires for a better life.

From a ferocious, violent want for a better life,  now I trundle along like a rudderless ship, my desire for more, now nothing but calm waters lapping gently on the shores.

If it indeed gets better, well and good, if it doesn't, how sweet is death?

I've seen them come and go, the good and bad times,  and the hopes and despair, and hope cloaked as despair, despair disguised as daunting deliriums

How I wish I could turn back the clock, go back to being naïve and full of blind hope, with a keen eye for reality,  but still a bit obtuse

But I guess I face reality, a reality too bleak to stare into, shining with rays of a thousand, five hundred suns, biting deeper than a burning pain from a knifing heartbreak, like the burning sensations from a broken bone...

Or should I take some time off, a short break from life, from obligations, from work, from hobbies, from dreaming, from loving and hating, from writing and editing, from doing and from just being?

Or should I take a longer, permanent break from just living?

True,things do get better, but how much worse before then? I wish to find out, I do not wish to keep waiting in line to find out...

And I can't cut ahead; one, because I can't see anyone I know to plug me in, but secondly, I have decorum and ethics,I think - haven't found anyone offering the right price for my values yet...

So in line, I wait...

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