Perception

Within the dull and dreary days

when boredom seeks to call

it knocks upon the withered door

of hope that is no more,

Then can I see the dreams that live

within the sullen breast,

and know that they will haunt me now

and keep me from all rest.

It’s in desire, and wanting life

to be some other thing

that discontent can clear its throat

and loud and brittle sing.

And yet while I can see this clear

and know its truth is cruel,

I cannot seem to shift myself

beyond its narrow view.

The day can be no other

than I deem it to be

and yet to change its destiny

I must wrought change in me.