Wasted words

New poem I’m working on … needs feedback to see if the rhythm and ideas make sense

So many wasted words,
still more struggle to be said.

Endless parade of repetition,
issues from the human condition.

We prise fears from our psyches,
turn them into marks on a page.
Catharsis in ink.

Discovering in the process,
if we’re lucky,
our tortured illuminations.
Common symptoms
of our race, our culture, and our kind.

But still, that doesn’t make you better
down where you are.
At the time.
Bruised, battered and brooding,
in the black dark of the existential pit.
No light, not even a fucking tunnel.

Weeks spent dreaming,
wrestling evanescence of thought.

Ideas in a hazy tantalizing whirl,
collide momentarily in the mind,
tease with near clarity,
then are gone.
Darting, spinning off at tangents.

New ones demand attention,
then as your mind’s eye looks,
drift away like eye worms.

Looking and seeing.
Still to find the difference.
To know it or feel it.

Seems to me
that if films are modern morality plays,
then the dilemma seems to be:

Safety in comfort,
stability in dull conformity,
risk the unfamiliar,
embrace adventure.

Look beyond the village,
further than family, house, or car.


As Chao Pingwen said;

Arise and take thy cane and bring thy pot,
Hunt out the hill and dale’s secluded spot.
I hear the cuckoos calling on the hills.
Business? What business? Oh, tarry not!