Poem - Just A Few Thoughts Poem by Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet

Was I ever really sick to begin with?
I was such a happy child
Full of energy and always playing
I didn't care what people thought about me
I just did things because I liked doing them
Without regret or over analysis

Skip forward 20 years and the script has flipped
I've struggled with depression, anxiety, and OCD
For over 18 years now,
18 exhausting years
Yes 6590 days roughly,
over 157,000 hours
Kinda sickening don't ya think?
Especially when you look at it like that!

Now that I'm a mature adult, well...adult
I can see things from
the watchtower
Or at least from a higher
vantage point
Those years are not ambiguous by any means
Surrounded by so many bitter souls (myself included)
Who insist on taking their problems out on the nearest bystander

Thrust into a world of
pointless competition
Fighting for a mediocre job
Fighting to please
an indifferent boss
Fighting to stay sane
while the years
Flicker away like the burning candle
With a sour scent of dissatisfaction

Guess what? The doctors grave
Is the same as the peasants grave
A gold coffin is still conceiled by dirt
And forgotten just as swiftly
The statement - I could have
been this?
Will bury you just as hastily

The questions? Oh they never seem to cease
What if? Why is it so? Who am I?
As the years pass there is no great clarity of answer
The only true clarity is that the questions never mattered
And your interpretation of them is just as easily forgotten with the subtle but loud ticking clock

You think you're special? A prize
of sorts?
Everyone is a prize in their fleeting
drunk minds
Because a blink in eternity, scares me too!
And yet that's all we are
graciously gifted on earth
So as I raise a glass, I say to myself
Make the most of it,
and blink beautifully!

The priest will bestow his blessing onto you
If you so choose to
confess your humanity
He will proclaim the great sins
of Babylon
Or perhaps will just babble on
About what it means to be a righteous man
In a cursed land littered with treacherous temptations

There are millions of magazines
And bounties of audacious books
That tell you that you are sub-par
Your face, your body,
your social status
Jealousy now comes in a pill
About 22cm x 28cm with a
papery aftertaste

Ohh 6pm, it's propoganda-o'clock!
Spread your fear like
the wings of a hawk
Swooping down on the
weary masses
Sharpen your beak of
well-seasoned lies
And shower your storm of hatred
Just to divide what's left of unity

Just because society has become a rotten tree
Doesn't mean I need to pick
it's corrupt fruit
I was born to be forever free
Like you were born also to be
Follow your gut, your intuition,
your heart

Stand true to you and on this world
Leave one hell of an
awesome mark!