Corben Bruce

Glasgow, January 18th, 2000
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The futility of Joy

I lie at night with music playing,
I convince myself it is to inspire
to create or feel or help me sleep
Instead i use it to drown the thoughts from my mind
An empty canvas with bright colours

I lie with eyes open in the darkness
for to close them is to invite images to fill the void
When they are open i see nothing
but closed i can see everything

What does it mean to be alive?
Isn’t this a question we all ask ourselves
A mature face, a strong mind, the shoulder, the rock, Mr “Got it all sorted”
That’s how they see me
The world that does not understand the chaos of confusion

Seeking approval never given, seeking meaning never found
I write this as i know it will never see the light of day
I type faster and faster and faster
words that will never leave my mouth
to a tune i will never play
in a form that matches none known to poetry
For in this, as in anything with my life, i know little
And pretend to know a lot

I am happy, i know this.
They know this
We know this
With a family that loves
and friends that care
with a superior that is impressed
and colleagues that are envious.
Why then if i am so happy
Do these words so pointlessly spill forth

I wonder if any contrive the way i feel
I wonder if they will ever truly know
How pointless it all is
The seeming endlessness
The unending search
The unsatisfactory treasure
And
The futility of Joy
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