When I Was Alive

Forty-something, worn out, stressed, forgotten, forgot, lamenting a time when he was not

Photo by Alexander Popov on Unsplash

Forty-something, worn out, stressed, forgotten, forgot, lamenting a time when he was not

You may find my poetry in various places on Medium and around the web. However, The Reflectionist is the one place you will find all my work. Many thanks for visiting.

Furrowed brow, vacant stare

Mind focused, yet unaware

Knuckles tight as I make my way

Here we go, another day

Immersed I am in things to do

My job is important, without it who

am I do you think?

Drink, it’s Friday night

A chance to escape the fight

The endless toil given to me by whom

Le grand autre I have succumbed to you

Driving

Radio’s on

I can hear it, it carries me along

Making my way every single day

40 years now, wasted away

Doing things you know I’d rather not

Before, I almost forgot

For the sake of bright shiny things

Intangible now

You know, I’d trade it all in

For that feeling, I had when I was a child

It was easy then… when I was alive

Originally published by Larry G. Maguire in Other Voices 28th July 2018

Thanks for taking the time to read my stuff. Every morning you’ll find me sharing a new thought on life, art, work, creativity, the self and the nature of reality on The Reflectionist. I also write on The Creative Mind. If you like what I’m creating, join my email list to receive the weekly Sunday Letters

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