Note to Self

Empty and silent, my head.

Quiet yet restless, my heart.

Uncertain, unclear, my future.

No path before me.

No passions within me.

No thoughts to stir me.

Where is the spark and the flash?

What of the torrent and flood?

Muted, subdued, and stagnant,

I slowly dissipate,

I weakly recede,

I softly diminish.

The tiny purposes of my life have become colorless threads, forsaken by a gradual loss of self.  The ribbons of my dreams may never be weaved into finery.  Those ambitions I nursed for so long have drowned in the inescapable doldrums of obligations and promises, the entrapment of paychecks, and that charnel house of hopes and aspirations called practical considerations.

Raise an empty mug,

and toast a life diverted.

It's time to pull the plug,

and this pursuit deserted.