Why Bother? [Poem]

Why Bother? - A poem from a dark place that became light once more.

I still feel like that kid sometimes,
wandering aimlessly amongst
labyrinthine uni corridors,
missing the obliviousness
from before I went and bit the apple,
unconscious of the corruption across
democracy, schools, health and life.
And in the seas of faceless crowds,
leashed along by their Big Brother,
I catch a glimpse of ignorant bliss,
reflected from their screens of black.
Lost, I ask myself: why bother?

I still feel like that kid sometimes,
watching the streets I lived on die
like plants sprayed with glyphosate.
Poisons in the monocultures
on overworked fields, in overworked minds,
Poisons in the factory lines
of fake food and fake medicine.
Ballots spoiled by the WEF
such that voting for change brings none.
The restaurants I loved have all gone bust,
an empty shop left like a pothole
or a rotten stump of a torn-down tree.
Lost, I ask myself: why bother?

I still feel like that kid sometimes,
wandering aimlessly around
school playgrounds, haunting grounds.
I’ve no desire to play their games
but in my own game I am alone.
One by one I fobbed off friends,
one by one I broke hearts harder
than a third Covid jab ever could.
Seeded clouds bring a blizzard
that would hide my body, should I
let my life be lost to its cold.
Lost, I ask myself: why bother?

I still feel like that kid sometimes,
who ran away from all he knew,
and let himself get caught just so
he could feel the exhilaration again.
Until, I became desensitised,
even to that depressing high.
I took a rope, tied a noose,
and leapt from a branch – but feet
touched back on the earth of hell;
one belonging to Lucifer’s minions
that try to claw all goodness from me.
Lost, I ask myself: why bother?

Why fucking bother?
Why even bother asking why to bother?

There’s nothing left here for that kid,
the one who roamed the crags and cliffs
overjoyed, with friends who chased
and played games amongst the thickets,
with nature’s bounty feeding us
regardless of the time of year.
Brandishing bilberries and blackberries,
nourishing our laughing bellies.
A graze or scrape or cut was but
a minor obstacle; one overcome
by a dose of fun and youthful being.
Why bother feeling sorry for myself?

Well, maybe something’s here for that kid,
the one who took all his heartstrings
and re-strung-up a discarded guitar
so his aching love could be heard in song.
Whether he played solo or together,
it only mattered that the frequencies
(to which he was acutely attuned to,
but too hard to put into words alone)
could be released in a form all knew
and reciprocated with gratitude and awe.
And music’s kick is but one spice of life.
Why bother feeling sorry for myself?

No, there is something here for that kid,
the one who had Wordsworth wander
into his soul on one English class.
Followed soon after by Percy Shelley,
he discovered that feelings could be voiced.
There’s irony there: that a dead school system,
from a dead empire made to make slaves,
could set a child’s mind dangerously free,
breaking the carefully mind-forged manacles
just in time for the truth’s reveal.
Now sovereignty is in everyone’s reach,
why bother feeling sorry for myself?

And there’s something here for me, too.
I have seen Gaia break through the haze
to bless me with those warm sun-rays
as I tread once-toxic wasteland
recovering through new green growth.
And though we find our tribes fractured,
the sacred loop of generations broken,
I’m finding I can take a cutting
and begin regrowing all the roots
to tap into source; our divine spirits.
When I know there are so many like me,
why bother feeling sorry for myself?

Why fucking bother?
Why even bother asking why to bother?

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Music: Brylie Christopher Oxley - Melancholy Aura
---

This poem began life as a personal assignment from David Cordes’ Journey Home course, but it took weeks after the conclusion of that course to be able to finally bring this all together. Really, this is a poem for me, and a reminder for the times I allow myself to slip into despair. It is a poem to help shift my frame back to the universe conspiring to do good for me - and not to do bad. As such, I see this as a fitting conclusion to some of the themes opened up in “Why I Write” and “Who Am I Writing For?”, and one that I am very proud to have here with you today.

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