Madness overcomes me. I have not made
anyone cry. Or sing along. Nor have they
cheered, for themselves, through the works I
have created. I have not enlightened nor
caused as much rejoicing as one firework. One
mediocre pop song. What have I been doing?
How misguided can a person be? 

 What has all of my time been spent
creating? In the end I am jealous of even
those whose goal is no more than rooting for
a winning team, of those who snowmobile in
circles. I have hung my happiness on too
high a hook for my height. This pantomime
form I possess has only a shard inside. What
misery it is to have sold oneself for low a price.

Worth, being determined by the
marketplace, is a fair meter. A meter which
I have not moved. My energies are dissipated
in a great void more vast than I had
imagined. My talents a wisp my message less
than a footnote. My shadow seems more real
than my form. Not worthy of an early death I
will age. An ageing which will deliver
corruption in stead of character. 

If I decide tonight to change all this it will
not matter. The die is cast. Time will allow
me deceptions in order to stave off
annihilation. I will always recognize them
as such, and cowardice will allow me to
accept them, and encourage me to move on.


Copyright 2001
Richard Lovrich
All Rights Reserved
Last modified January 02, 2001