When is it time to move on? (poem)

Leave behind the past,

projects you've worked on for years,

dreams you've had since childhood.

Maybe they've run their course,

but how can you know?

What if letting it go ruins everything,

destroying all passion and ambition?

What if it's the only thing keeping you going?

A sense of self-imposed obligation

igniting the fiery furnace of creativity.

The future cannot exist without the past,

but living in the past negates the present.

It seems there are so many wrong ways

it's hard to identify the right ones.

-Zero

Into the Unknown (poem)

A whisper in the sleepless night,

a call to a future I can't paint,

an unknown that terrifies me.

This ringing in my ear tempts me beyond,

past all the certainties I hold,

into a place I don't even know exists.

The unknown is dark and nebulous,

before me a million paths split,

but only one calls out my name.

My legs tremble at the thought,

my voice quivering and weak:

why does it look so difficult?

One slip and I fall to darkness

following this voice into the uncharted,

is this a mistake I'll learn to regret?

But a power within me burns to go,

an old friend pulling me by the hand

into the shadows of the unknown.

-Zero

Nightly Melancholy (poem)

The night consumes the day

and the world quiets in its sleep,

leaving me isolated in this dim sanctuary

with a heavy melancholy painting the walls.

It comes without much reason,

thoughts of old forgotten loves surface

like zombies rise from a shallow grave:

dead and rotten yet rejuvenated.

But it's less like a zombie invasion

and more like a nightly dig:

when the night calls out to me,

I grab a shovel and go to the graveyard.

Why do I even bother to dig?

To look for inspiration I've already ruined,

to find answers I already have,

or does melancholy just feel poetic?

-Zero