The Search

Everyday is a battle inside.

Proud little moments in between fits of defeat

up beat, down beat, mid beat so fleeting

triumph on top of tragic failings

the polarity is rich and glaring.

You can't show too much in your face

just do your best, your usual taste

but those showers are hot, so hot

can't seem to get a hold of this lot. 

You can act, play pretend for a while

you can let out secrets from the crack of your smile

smile while you can and while it's sweet

later you'll shudder in the depths of your defeat.

Your proud moments belong to your seed

that child is more than you'll need

even with the cold rush you feel

your heart can't possibly reveal.

Honest moments are stolen

masks are your prized beholden

sleep escapes you, you deserve none

too much to do, too much to have done.

Every day a set, a schedule of monotony

feelings of abandon, none of pity

no rainbow or gold to be had

just grit and disappointment's the fad.

The latest news is to keep at it

even with loose dust in your pockets

zeros in your luxury bin

you try hard as if you'll win.

The bare minimum would be welcomed

in the rugged climate of the stark and dim

in the land of many opportunities

seems like it isn't so, or not so lucky.

To continue means destitution

you pray for a finality, resolution

you beg for mercy from this long road

but receive fool's gold.

Shea McGee
Shea McGee

Writer who has written for as long as I can remember. Mother, student, fashion enthusiast, self-professed blerd and all around goof. Inspired by many horror/fantasy writers.

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The Search