Untitled
By JL Austgen
If I was to wander the Earth all alone,
would I think of my existence a sort of
hell in my bones?
Or would it be a blessing to know I
was free of the rot, hate,
and other forms of tyranny?
A question we must ask; do we love
life, or rather the pains in our ass?
A theory that I have, that lives
inside of me; Do we enjoy our
hellish existence, or long to be free?
Life to me is not the life that I
live right now. Rather it would be
heaven, a green grass meadow never under plow.
A mountain cell with fresh winter
snow; The green grass, a house
in the meadow.
With a cloud of black wafted
by the wind; I would Live with
my love ever close to my chin.
Love and life are much the same;
for without either the clouds roll up
and empty their ugly rain.
Life is not living without love
by your side, and love needs life
if it hopes to survive.
A love I have right now, but she is
so far away. A life that drags me
down almost everyday.
And so you see I cannot live without
my love; I must toil and tear and
sweat and cheer, and long for that dove;
That seems just a bit out of reach among
those lofty tops. The heights that
hold my life as well as my dreams
Are bogged down by the chains that seem
to come in teams. A life I did not
choose, but live to its extent; whatever
meager minds must do to survive this
Hellish place; I do because I must,
but living it is not. Living is among
the mountains of my youth, not of
The flatlands that seem so uncouth.
Living I do not do, for love
is so far away; love I do have, except
For a life, I pray. A life like a fairy
tale that I read about in nooks, a
love like Shakespeare, who wrote great books.
There is nothing so wrong as a life with
a constant pain in a side; and so I long
for my heaven high among the clouds.
"Untitled" belongs purely to JL Austgen © 1997.
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