I have become the stagnant brine,
Creativity has become my prison.
Every day I sit and stare
Off into space without much care.
My foundation was curiosity,
The wonders that life kept hidden.
I\'ve seen a few, and so close they were -
Amongst women, children, and men.
I am a slave to enthusiasm,
Held captive by indecision.
Wasting away years simply spent
On keeping everything the same.
If what I seek has not been found,
Then this balance is limitation.
Fleeting wants and needs sustain
Self-loathing, and inhibition.
Am I to remain the head held under,
Am I to rejoice in my lack of choice?
Am I to attend the ceremony
Never once using my voice?
If I speak will I find solace,
If so, will comfort ever reciprocate?
If I inherit the will of great men now gone
Will I rise above this looming grave?
If I give in to that daring risk
Or that fervor and its passion,
Will all I\'ve built come crumbling down
Like castle walls amidst the grey;
If I stray any farther from this path outlaid
Will I face death before I\'ve lived?
If I concede to fate\'s ill temper
Will I ever be able to change?
Can I elude the frothing jaw of greed,
Is it befitting to ask for more?
May I find hope alongside the hapless,
Or affinity among the lorn?
With all my effort I\'ve strived to etch
This yearning into my being.
My family, friends; I love them all -
But something is always missing.
This fear cannot subdue persistence,
I\'ve already wasted too much time.
So before I fall to dread, I\'ll resist -
And I shall take this life as mine.