Diego Modena & Jean-Philippe Audin-implora
Wasted Time
At this exact instant on this exact planet
Somewhere a much younger version of ourselves is staring
Tyler Knott Gregson
there are more people than you, or I, or anyone else
would ever care to admit, that are buried beneath
the weight of wasted time.
The shoulds and supposed tos and becauses and jobs
and money and requirements and responsibilities
add up and pile up and entomb us.
How many miles separate how many people
from the lives they should be leading,
the people they should be loving and the moments
they will never get back?
The justification of this frustration
paints a glossy veneer of happiness over the rust
of the truth hiding below it.
It’s the realization of our encapsulation
that cracks the paint and lets the color fade.
When do we forget the value of what we hold
and when do we forget to care about the burying
we submit ourselves to?
into the future raising tiny clenched fists into the air
and screaming a wordless warning that falls on
the deaf ears that age has stolen sound from.
We see ourselves and we see the meaning we’ve assigned
to meaningless things;
we see the imagination running off the pages we painted,
watercolors evaporating and leaving behind only blank
canvas, only dry brushes.
Hasn’t the time come to stop this, to put water
to the burning of our futures by the flames of our
past restrictions? Has not the time arrived to
mix the color in the water and dip the brush,
dried an atrophied and lonely from the waiting it too
has endured?
Live life like you love to live and make that life
the one you’ve been waiting for.
At this exact instant you and only you
can rise from the layers of wasted time,
drive your hand through the sediment and
feel the sunlight on your fingers.
Find the grace
Find the positivity. Find the grace. Find it and hold it
and cling to it like it is your lifeline and only breath
of air before everything sinks. Find the silver linings.
Hold them in your lungs and search for them in the bubbles
and rubble of all that pours down around you. Find the bright
spot in the dark clouds, listen for the sounds of the birds
when the winds pick up and tear down the house around you.
That it has never been about the punches we can throw,
Tyler Knott Gregson
It is there, shhh, it is there, it is always there and it is
waiting for you to reach out with both hands, bloody and shaking
, and hold tight to it like it is the last thing you will ever
learn how to let go. Find the glory, the glory through the ache,
and understand that it is what we can endure that defines who we become.
but the punches we can absorb and still stand up from.
It is the standing up, it has always been the standing up
and the refusal to lie still and quiet as the numbers count
towards ten and the knockout becomes complete. Rise my soul,
rise through the flame and the ash, rise through the waters
that fill the spaces under your arms as the crawl towards
your throat. Rise and find the grace, for it is all around you.
Find it. Find the grace.
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