Thirst

Thirst
By: Bryan Olson

Living vicariously through music,
Pouring myself onto paper,
(like the toxins in my glass)
Waiting for words to run out.
Though they never do.

Not caring where the letters come to rest,
They gush from inside like a waterfall.
Feeding the earth around me with memories,
Growing vegetation so I can gather energy to once again create,
(a pattern only healthy for an artist)
Even then, it cycles.

Waiting for the clean break that will never come.
Digesting every moment.
Comparing what is and what never was,
Takes its toll.

We could have been a beautiful pandemic of affection.
But other events,
(of lesser perfection)
Laid in wait for our demise.

The urge to once again soar is greater than the will to let these wings fully recover.
However with the remembrance of my journey,
I dive into logic,
And try to rest this tired essence.

That once familiar sculpture,
Now gathers dust in another’s collection.
Carelessly I was tossed aside while waiting for an honest answer.
(I should have seen the signs)

Just so you know,
I always tried.