CM Simpson: Writer & Gamer

And speaking of getting back on the horse, I'm returning to posting work samples from different projects. This is one of last week's poems - an experimental form with an iambic pentameter base.         We Remain    We are the lost The untransitioned The ones they left behind   We are those who lived When all else died   Or were transformed Removed from human Made monsters of the mind   We are those who made it through We wish to turn back time   To turn back time To what things once were An imperfected norm   Not safe but still a sanctuary Compared to where we now have gone   In this plague world Where the dead walk Still alive and not at rest   We strive to send them back to sleep And rebuild what they have left.  

It's been a long while since I could set a goal and then not be guaranteed that it would be the one thing I would...for whatever number of reasons, fail to achieve. It's been almost as long that setting any kind of deadline would cripple me, instead of energize me like it used to do. It's been an equally long time since I wasn't sure I would fail no matter how much effort I put into something, no matter how 'right' I got it, no matter how well it worked for anyone else...and then tried to do it, anyway. Years. At least two. Twenty-four months. Or 730 days. And probably a couple of years before that. We won't get into hours or minutes, but, whichever way you slice it, it's a very long time to live with the hope that the storm will pass, and to keep trying to move forward in spite of what Life throws, in spite of the doubts others have in you, and in spite of the absolute surety you feel that you *will* fail, that it will not matter how precisely right you...