A sombre meditation

Preserved for posterity rather than anything else. The work itself is another case of catharsis through writing, and as such I do not think deserves all that much attention, except from myself.

---

Failure comes in many forms
The unread book beside my bed
The years I've seen floating by
And the future so near.
When I think about it, sometimes
I believe I must be quite mad
And with madness comes no lucidity
Only the nagging question
Have I thrown it all away?
'Perhaps', a ghost will answer
But it is so sad
That I see what I want to be
And also how far away I am.
Does my life have purpose?
Perhaps not; the sweet strains of music
Suggest at something more, and indeed
I do believe there is more
But look at the others
And honestly tell me
'You have found meaning
Your path is true
You have a future yet'
Am I too harsh? Perhaps, but
Is there truth to what I say?
My friend, the answer can only be yes.
You cannot change overnight, sure,
But you must sometimes stop
And think of where you are heading
Before you end up old and unfulfilled
In a life bereft of beauty.