marching into the opaque


sitting at my desk I sometimes dream
what life would be like elsewhere
a precarious thought extinguished
my day continues easy and productive

day in after clocked day out
respected for my expertise, I’m busy
enjoying these working relationships
youth draining into the leather swivel chair

then one day a wormhole opens
sucking me from that stable seat
into the black hole of questions and doubt
there’s not a root or a rope to hold onto

what will I do and what do I want?
firefighter and doctor no longer reasonable
childhood answers splatter a blank canvas
oozing like funds and incoming bills

desperate solutions with fairy tale endings
what was it I had dreamed about all of those times
tabula rasa, a chance to reinvent myself
but a tree without roots does not stand straight long

so I scrape and I claw to make the best of it all
choices add to life’s complexity called adulthood
far from the apron strings and my cubicle is lost
in a dark forest with no discernible path, I press on

driven by self interest and preservation
a new carrot dangles just out of reach
stretching and marching into the opaque
hoping to attain a modicum of security


6 Responses to “marching into the opaque”

  1. hardierworker said

    I really enjoyed this poem. I’m in the same black hole of uncertaintly with you. You captured all the emotions of trying to reinvent oneself and attain gainful employment. Thank you for putting the time into making this beautiful poem.

  2. Awesome. I definitely feel you on this one. Right where I’m at.

  3. Big Ghost said

    Not to worry, this is just a sympton of being born after the 70s, when our collective grand expectations left us wanting more and more.

    I suggest looking for the root, not the rope. See you in the woods….

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