Where there's a will, there is a way.
This statement uttered every day.
Still, one's will only go so far in carving a path.
All will to be, though futile it may seem.
A man drowning, head bobs up and down,
This personage has a will to live, while unable to swim.
He may will and wish--still the ability is non-being.
His will can only go so far, for he eventually fades away.
Mankind desires many a thing.
Yet what they long for is a being,
One rid of pain, hardship, toiling--ah Elysium!
To live peaceably, strolling through the greenly--breeze.
All are endowed with a capacity,
In order to maintain their prosperity.
Some have a propensity otherwise,
Some seek to escape--but remain idle.
Some aim for change, but are incapable,
Is it that they cannot? Or they choose not?
Or perhaps their capacity denies them so.
The same way a frail person cannot lift a mountain.
He is frustrated--for he longs to soar,
To break free and fulfill his destiny.
Still, he remains below, his wings clipped.
Does he not know what to do?
One can view a path, a burning passion for it.
Some have tried to steer through,
But, like a car low on fuel, so far do they go.
There remains in certain people a limiting factor.
Some call it trauma, still others a pain.
Some maneuver around it, Others push through.
There still remains a group stuck before it.
Frozen, incapable of passing by.
"Light cares can speak, but heavy ones are dumb.
--Seneca"
Some are simply superb, indestructible.
Having a resilience like no other.
There remains a group in deficiency.
Lacking the will to even react, simply petrified.
The meter of pain is universal, true!
The matter of, which is felt spiritually, not at all.
A paper cut to one, is a stab to another.
A heavy burden to this one, is a crushing mountain to the next.
Some are paralyzed and lost,
Seeking to understand what lays Infront.
Alas! They seem incapable of such.
Stagnant they are, ruminate they do.
Trauma holds some captive,
Two steps forward yet remain immobilized.
Was...there...even movement at all?
Perhaps its imaginary, no roadblock at all.
A figment of the human imagination,
As is said:
"The human capacity for self-deception is infinite.
--Norman Finkelstein"
Perhaps it is anxiety, fears made manifest.
For how it can be, they remain ever present,
For if that is, there must be a being.
That is not at all freeing.
Of this deficient-capacity, there is a curse imposed,
That one is to remain forever chained,
That none can escape no matter the strength of will.
That is, 'til the roadblock is dealt with, for real.
The one thing he says and knows,
Trauma holds him back, forever his state.
Or so he thinks, for it whispers daily:
As it once was, always.
Can they break free? Who knows!
Anxiety and trauma combating self-deception.
How does the story end?
I know, -- -- --- -- --- ----- -- ---. -----.
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