I feel like I start over
every time I begin.
Words are merely words
I’m lost inside these pages
knowing not where I fit.
Having trouble, no excitement
where once there was a bonfire, now lies only a pit.
Attempting to start another flame
after the core’s been extinguished,
takes a skill I’ve been lacking,
feeling lost and languished.
Yet, as I sit with this mountain above me,
sometimes it feels like it’s on top.
I am reminded of a little Hobbit
whose future, he knew not.
Yet he helped to slay a dragon
a nasty hoarder of treasure and gold.
I may yet help slay the new beast
a dank system of exploitation and sadness untold.
I look forward sometimes to the fight,
but mostly toward the victory.
Knowing full well any fulfillment