I feel like I start over

every time I begin.

Words are merely words

inside, paper-thin.

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

will start in my soul’s understanding of my own history.