So tired and exhausted,
my soul flat lined,
victim of my inner voice, self-accosted.
Sacrifices made, an extension of myself given,
yet status quo is honored,
some try not at all, others just give in.
Creation. Innovation. Adaptation.
It's all a slow cyclical suffocation.
Until May,
Left on the canvas, exploring signification.
or the mystification of the situation,
of the true question:
In the business of person-development,
did you give everything?
My soul is empty.
My inner voice calm with rage told me that.
How exhausted are you?
my soul flat lined,
victim of my inner voice, self-accosted.
Sacrifices made, an extension of myself given,
yet status quo is honored,
some try not at all, others just give in.
Creation. Innovation. Adaptation.
It's all a slow cyclical suffocation.
Until May,
Left on the canvas, exploring signification.
or the mystification of the situation,
of the true question:
In the business of person-development,
did you give everything?
My soul is empty.
My inner voice calm with rage told me that.
How exhausted are you?