False Hope of Gods: Summertime

Nothing feels good about it
I knew where I was supposed to be
Is this what every April brings?
Went on without me, didn’t need to give the cue
Summer’s dawn has consequences
All must fall to start anew

But summer ends
Again, like the last time
This is the cycle we’re stuck in?
Hushed men carry tons
Balancing act on hunched shoulders
Always nothing to show for, unless you count

Gold lays right below the floorboards she weeps on at night
Beneath the cold concrete that gave birth to the hard exterior
That: Maintains ground dwelling,
Keep digging.
Holds you, holds your treasures
I never believed it
Eyes kept downward
The reason:
Only thing in those skies are fairy tales

But she was made above this
Lovely, unhuman attributes
Better than hope, aligned with seasons

She, has had it all
Came back here
And it was different
Transitory living, being.
Where, is the wanting, more?

Published by Kevin J

I think I write to try to explain moments that I don't truly understand. That's why I have a tendency to be wordy. The closer I am to minimalism, the better off I am. I also do it to keep records of what I was thinking at certain periods of time, so some kind of footsteps are left showing me how I got here. Looking back, it seems inevitable that I am where I am now; couldn't have been anywhere else. I don't have any goals for the future, except for trying to enjoy it. I'm the opposite of most people I know; I no longer want to know what is coming up next. I just want to create the road and ride, or not create it and ride anyway.

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