problems

talking about my problems now,
i'm all lost in comparative literature
all but forgotten, studying my past
hoping for more to come, on that glory day
but i digress, with more time it could be made
happy, done about it, with a logic and a feeling
a sense of completion, of all that was removed
where is my staff, my rod, my steady hand hold
who will hold me up, only me, i continue
in echoing fortiutude and responsiveness
although everything should be right
something is missing, and i've forgotten
the rules, echoing back to show the play
and digression of easing up on the action
forgotten forever because we forgot
to mention, eager enough to save ourselves
but strangely lost