The Boatman Can Wait A Bit Longer

Summary

The article reflects on the personal struggle of living a life devoid of love and connection, while holding onto the hope that one's literary work may transcend the author's own anonymity and be remembered.

Abstract

The author of the article delves into the existential challenges faced by someone who wakes up alone each day, consumed by unrequited emotions and yearning for human touch. Despite the passage of time marked by a fixation on the future and a repetition of the past, the author acknowledges the neglect of the present and the consequences of not truly living. Amidst the despair, there is a glimmer of hope that lost hope can be rediscovered, and that a fulfilling life is still attainable. The piece conveys a journey of self-reflection and the pursuit of a life worth living through moderation and mindfulness. The author, identifying as a solitary figure and a nonconformist, emphasizes the importance of genuine passion in writing over compulsion, and ultimately aspires for their work to be remembered, even if their personal identity fades into obscurity.

Opinions

The author feels that a life without love and joy is not worth living.
There is a sense of regret for not appreciating the present moment.
The author believes that aiming for moderation can alleviate the burden of control.
Writing with genuine love for the craft is seen as superior to writing out of obligation.
The author holds a hope that their written work will outlive them and be appreciated in the future.
The author views themselves as an outsider, not following the crowd.

I may not be worth remembering-I hope my written work will be

As the sun sets, I recall

One of the hardest things in life is to always wake up alone. Living absents out of control emotions for another. I wish I were too dead to want the simple touch from a woman.

Alas, far too many years unfolded in front of my shrouded eyes. I was focusing solely on the future and repeating the past. I neglected the present time that I could change.

It was not living Going from suffocating to drowning. Wanting only the hangman’s noose to pull me free.

What is life without love? What is life without joy? What is life when the hope for love and joy, dies?

I want to believe.

Hope might be lost but what is lost can be found. I can still smile through diminished possibilities. A life worth living is still to come.

I know

Aiming with doubt misses the mark. Aiming for excess exhausts the power. Aiming for moderation unburdens the control.

As I crack my knuckles, getting ready to write a new poem. I bear in mind.

Liberate my reasoning before I start to think. Forgive all animosity that fuels my passion. Treasure all the bleak moments on the crucial road.

As I am one of the lonely that is half alive. The black sheep that never followed any leader.

I bear in mind, that a writer with a love for writing will always produce better work than the one who feels compelled to write. As I gaze at the noose. I know none will remember me. My hope is someone out there in the future will read my work.

So, I will keep my two coppers and the boatman waiting, until after I write something worth remembering. Or will I?

If you enjoyed this, you might also like

The Boatman Can Wait A Bit Longer

I may not be worth remembering-I hope my written work will be

The Road

Parallelization from Devastation

Repeatedly Drowning

The end of one’s heartache

Addicted to The Wrong Life

Living the wrong life is insane, yet so many do it all the same.