Myth
Great are the urban legends that teem and bite and stare
Great are your personal myths, your demons, your perceptions
Your worries of seeing yourself as others do,
who couldn't care
Like all men seem to, callus and brisk and harsh
There has to be an explanation, some logic--
You can’t let it be without needing to act,
without neurosis, without effect
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Except dreams to die,
Or dreams you thought could come that never would
Even small dreams stay dreams in this landscape
Of unexpressed needs a result of fear -- because of myth, because of unknowns
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Great are the city lights that pierce the night sky
And so strange juxtaposed against the contrast of the country
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to bury like you used to
Under the dark, damp layers of farm land, rising and falling
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The city, exposing and raw, yet strangely a comfort
Each light pinned on a skyscraper like cutout stars
Each one representing a life, a dream
Great are those numbers, overwhelming and silent and uncomfortable
Making those below feel small, unaccomplished, lowly
Or not to feel at all but to attempt to ignore and conceal under the hard, unforgiving pavement
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But there are too many people in the city
Busily working in uncanny urban necromancy,
with no regard for you, raising shortfallings like ghostly soldiers.
After all, you come to the city begging for it, like a form of self-torturing prophecy
To brush off and get back on that same old horse and go
Though its engine is animal and not mechanical
And its strength finite instead of infinite
They say “insanity expects different results”
And being behind before the gun is motivation enough to not start
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But, you do to avoid the sneers and the smiles and the talk of
“I am doing so well. I am so happy”. Which is a myth (by the way).
Made to make you feel alone
And for a moment you are truly happy, so you tell yourself its not a myth
But it's common knowledge that no unhappy person is always that way nor any happy person happy always either
Deep down, you know the “true” truth.
What else can you call it?
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For “truth” is subjective,
misused too often like the words “I love you” or “I promise”.
What does it even mean?
Mostly because truth is grey
is pale
is boring
or is too shocking
or buried
or mixed in with half truths
Which are probably more true anyways
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For where words end there are no adjectives or nouns or verbs that anyone could say to be honest with another
Lies are words that fill the gap between what is and what we wish
And words betray for they are only as precious as each to their own
For a set falling from one person’s lips is not equal in value to yours
Or brashly strewn about in the moment without commitment,
when feeling generous or inclined
empty currency
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It is then that myths, full of truth – at least someone’s truth, will do just fine.
