Solitude

Getting up never used to be a chore,
Yet, today just seemed to be a bore,
Slowly dragging his body upright,
He vanquished the vestige of the night,
By reaching out and drawing the curtain.

The golden rays streamed into his den,
Bouncing off motes of dust,
Revealing the form of a pensive soul,
His furrowed brows did make it known,
That he was man to whom did destiny dole,
More than a fair share of cruel hands,
And that his star now just dimly shone.

Yet there was a sparkle in his eyes - an expression of hope,
And of the resolve to live through this phase - to cope,
To weather the storm and to emerge stronger,
To not shy away from his calling any longer,
He steeled himself - he has a long way to tread,
With solitude the solitary companion.

The eyes of the 'beholden'

They beckon and invite,
Appeal to hopes and aspirations,
Offer glimpses of the future that might,
Be unveiled, if looked through their sight,
Their intense gaze, pierces the soul,
Like an artist's creation, following his every move,
He appears the sole object of their desire,
And so does their beauty don a vice like grip,
Entwining his all in their mire,
Elevating him beyond existence mere,
Intoxicating him, their presence sheer.

...

Wears down this novelty in due course,
The eyes now do not even offer recourse,
For they not be directed at him anymore,
Rather do they peer, to some far off horizon,
Eagerly awaiting someone else to adore,
His hopes dashed, his desires wizened,
Engulfed by a void that suddenly surrounds,
He finds nor happiness, neither solace around,
A part of him does slowly die,
So do the eyes of the 'beholden' smite,
One in whose eyes did beauty lie.

The nay-sayer

Oft does one encounter,
The moment of pure inspiration,
When all seems possible,
And the world seems to be at your feet.

But suddenly, the little voice within,
Knocks ever so gently on the conscience,
Making its presence known,
Raking up fear of things that might go wrong,
Creating tendrils of doubt in your resolve,
And suddenly, the foothold seems not so strong,
The certitude does slowly dissolve,
Like sand slipping through clutching fingers,
Hope is displaced by foreboding that lingers,

Many greats, with achievements numerous,
Did thus have their fates sealed,
And so have lost to themselves,
Many who circumstances could not reel.

For while indeed a powerful tool,
Our caution often does make us a fool,
Our life's often take a turn for the better,
If we embrace situations that arise,
Taking them head on, rather than playing it wise,
Not letting the nay-sayer within dictate,
Rather, letting a bold decision seal our fate.
For, even if things don't work out,
Is all ever lost? Is it ever too late?