In between yawns and nanna naps
I manage to squeeze some form of living.
I don’t feel alive at work
I feel dead tired when I am at home.
I do what I have to just to keep promises I’ve made to family and friends
go to barbeques, sit for dinner, bar hop all around the city streets,
fill in for a mate at footy or basketball –
nothing thrilling but enough to prove that I am still alive – at least still moving and breathing.
I want to stop and rest but I don’t
The empty truth of regret; the crying of neglected dreams; too much to bear
So much time to waste;
There’s no point in dreaming.
I can never make them happen unless I sleep and let thoughts sit there,
eyes and mind stare blankly and then wonder away
until the next moment of season’s greetings introduce my existence to people once again.