The Cliché-Killer (poem)
By Luke Labern
What do you aim for?
The short-, the mid- or the long term?
I understand and empathise
With meticulous planning,
But luck has a clever way
Of obscuring things from our eye.
I often think too much
And, angst-ridden, try to live
A life in a day.
But when I slow down
And accept I'll never have enough time,
I prioritise -- and the same things
Rise to the surface.
A lot of long term ambitions
Too lofty to name.
But to get there, I have to focus
Not just on the big picture --
I need the tools to get there.
I caught a glimpse
Of the troubles ahead.
Unsettling as they are --
And as certain as the lows to come --
I know the long term is sure
As long as I keep on breathing
(Not that that's guaranteed.)
I'm at peace with turmoil
As long as there's reward.
I embrace the pain.
It reminds me I'm alive.
Post-flat line I won't have worries,
Sentience, ethics, lusts, drives or
Life at all -- so I grit my
Teeth and head towards the strife.
If you look carefully, you can even
See a smile.
Rest without work is a pointless endeavour.
Such a waste of life -- pure hedonism --
Is rivalled in banality only by boredom.
One is better than the other, but, for me,
Pleasure loses its lustre when it isn't earned.
Knowing death is coming forces
Us either to ignorance or obsession.
Currently, I do the latter: I pretend
Tonight is my last time in this body;
The last time I can think, the last
Chance I have to appreciate those finest
Beings.
Everything becomes crystallised.
It's tattooed on my mind
If not my skin. No motto could
Capture it, but I have a few
Lines which should:
I redefine linguistically muddy waters;
I don't follow in footsteps, but I trace my heroes' steps:
I work hard to reduce stress, and I live life without filler.
I am the cliché-killer.
The short-, the mid- or the long term?
I understand and empathise
With meticulous planning,
But luck has a clever way
Of obscuring things from our eye.
I often think too much
And, angst-ridden, try to live
A life in a day.
But when I slow down
And accept I'll never have enough time,
I prioritise -- and the same things
Rise to the surface.
A lot of long term ambitions
Too lofty to name.
But to get there, I have to focus
Not just on the big picture --
I need the tools to get there.
I caught a glimpse
Of the troubles ahead.
Unsettling as they are --
And as certain as the lows to come --
I know the long term is sure
As long as I keep on breathing
(Not that that's guaranteed.)
I'm at peace with turmoil
As long as there's reward.
I embrace the pain.
It reminds me I'm alive.
Post-flat line I won't have worries,
Sentience, ethics, lusts, drives or
Life at all -- so I grit my
Teeth and head towards the strife.
If you look carefully, you can even
See a smile.
Rest without work is a pointless endeavour.
Such a waste of life -- pure hedonism --
Is rivalled in banality only by boredom.
One is better than the other, but, for me,
Pleasure loses its lustre when it isn't earned.
Knowing death is coming forces
Us either to ignorance or obsession.
Currently, I do the latter: I pretend
Tonight is my last time in this body;
The last time I can think, the last
Chance I have to appreciate those finest
Beings.
Everything becomes crystallised.
It's tattooed on my mind
If not my skin. No motto could
Capture it, but I have a few
Lines which should:
I redefine linguistically muddy waters;
I don't follow in footsteps, but I trace my heroes' steps:
I work hard to reduce stress, and I live life without filler.
I am the cliché-killer.
A Poem,
Published 16 May 2012
Published 16 May 2012