I polish ghosts into a golden age,
the past appears the way I need.
Where I reside is carved on the page,
walls erected outline my screed.

So many names dissolve into the dust,
a lifetime’s work reduced to yellowed ink.
One path is quietly being discussed,
another burns alone beneath the drink.

Stitched a self from fragments within,
a life becomes the story that remains.
Bus rides through the snow become a hymn,
breathing softly in the smallest pains.

Is artistic dedication noble
or just self-imposed isolation?
The mystery is solved inside the story,
but the mystery itself is an illusion.

I’m not sure what prompted it but the title of Seth’s comic, It’s A Good Life If You Don’t Weaken, has been in my mind recently. Not having read it yet, I investigated the story and themes and came up with this write. Intrigued, I’ve also pushed this book higher up my to-be-read pile, which changes often.

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Today’s Daily Stoic poem:

Consider Your Feelings Too

It’s easy to take offence at another’s wrong
Yet you have similar failings too
Forget your anger and what compels them
For what else could they do?