Why does this feeling hurt?
It is a familiar one and its somewhat prepared for, then,
If I have known it all this time, then why does it hurt as if it’s the first time?
Why can’t I contain this passion?
It has been the warning from the exploits of old
That "a curbing of the enthusiasm should follow those erratic throes of passion."
If that is the case then
Why should I feel passion at all?
Why does it even matter?
If there was a sense of purpose to this,
To my greater sense of being,
Of becoming or approaching that which I aspire to,
Why does this minute detail of inconsequential uprising,
Even make a difference to the greater person which is me?
Why can’t I explain it?
To whom, and why would they want to hear it at all?
It is a familiar one and its somewhat prepared for, then,
If I have known it all this time, then why does it hurt as if it’s the first time?
Why can’t I contain this passion?
It has been the warning from the exploits of old
That "a curbing of the enthusiasm should follow those erratic throes of passion."
If that is the case then
Why should I feel passion at all?
Why does it even matter?
If there was a sense of purpose to this,
To my greater sense of being,
Of becoming or approaching that which I aspire to,
Why does this minute detail of inconsequential uprising,
Even make a difference to the greater person which is me?
Why can’t I explain it?
To whom, and why would they want to hear it at all?
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