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Drip

Stream of consciousness

By Hyde Wunderli Published 2 years ago • 1 min read
Drip
Photo by Yoann Boyer on Unsplash

Drip

No, not again.

Drip

Need to sleep

Drip drip drip

My foreheads rotting,

From the drips that keep falling,

Soaking my consciousness;

An open wound,

Drip drip

Among this metronome of malfunctioning plumbing,

I’m reminded of time that is waning.

Drip

Where did it go?

My time to shine,

To prove to those that were doubting.

In my youth,

I spent my time dreaming,

Drip

Of my big moment where,

Drip

My existence is recognized,

Not for my flaws,

Drip drip

But for the times I got up,

Brushed off my knees and carried on life’s journey.

Of times I showed grace,

And of times I shed light;

On someone in need-someone fading.

Of times I laughed with strangers, as equally with loved ones;

Gave a hug to a traveler, weary and sad,

And showed up for a friend with a heart to mend.

Now coming of age well into my thirties,

A reflective mirror has shown me my past.

So much of dreams-cast into the wind;

Where it either carries me forward or drags me down.

My soul is a kite waiting for flight.

Wish I did more

Woulda done more

Coulda done more

There’s only today.

So much time gone by,

How much is left?

To do “more” of what drives me,

Gives me back hope.

Drip

Shake this rust oh faulty Faucett,

Show me a way I can give more effort,

keep my head straight among a crooked world,

And fight the callous’s,

Drip

Of a world getting harder.

Help me drip.

Help me flow.

Help me give this world a go.

Stream of Consciousness

About the Creator

Hyde Wunderli

Enthusiast of gothic romanticism and strong themes.

Here for the dopamine, the passion, and the challenge to push my comfort zone.

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    Written by Hyde Wunderli