Old Diaries

Old diaries. Old diaries.
Old diaries are the creed of a former self
A personal religion I have followed as faithfully as any hypocrite.
In them are writ a litany of mottoes, anagrams, and bluster
By which I would muster up a better man than this tepid self.
Old diaries reveal the shortfall of the man
Next to the demands of his former self.

They are the text of soul, desire, and
Impossible standards,
Impossible despair.
They are a panting rebel breathing
White whispery towers of resolution
Into the steaming air, and believing
In the immaterial vision.

Old diaries—my former selves—
Make judgments, and more
They embody an entire store of ideals atrophied and
Eased away,
Forgotten by this present day.
They are the unswerving gaze of a man sworn
Never to be couch-content, material-bound,
Or wound up in any mundane sentiment.

Yes. Old diaries reveal the shortfall
Of the man.
But here, here’s the gall:
I must stand to being a fool,
But when?
Am I now
Or was I then?