By Lorraine K Sal (Lorraine K Sal)
Seemingly, life fleetingly passes by and we yearn.
Yearn, for better, yearn for more.
The pure desire of meaning and spirit in the little things that do not delve deep yet deeply scar our souls.
Am I wrong? For weeping over a soul failing to ameliorate itself.
‘We are failing to feel,’ they wept, ‘we’re only human,’ they replied, ‘it is in our nature to need, to want, to crave what we cannot touch…’
A writer’s ticker, bleeding over the blank pages of my soul…reminding me of my mortality
The weakness I hold dear, the weakness I fail to escape, the weakness that defines me, the weakness I vehemently deny, the weakness I…
I am the pattern of a deeply flawed someone, a dancer, a beautiful mind, an artist searching for the finer things the gift has to offer
An oceanic abyss, yearning to gain understanding of another,
The splashing of paint on written pages, making fine recondite art
An enigma to most, but a simple puzzle to the keen psyche.
A psychedelic experience, spelling freedom and exemption from judgement
An ascension to a new world, sanity flees and the curiosity rises, venturing in terra incognita
I’m drowning, farther in…the excitement churns, pulling me further in.
I fail to see my reflection, aching and clawing at me for a little more attention.
Lost in a world I do not recognise, I long for familiarity
The notion of a happy ending striping my astuteness to dust.
I am falling deeper, in an abyss until I cannot breathe any more.
Hold me, steadfast, hold me…for I’m falling in terra incognita.
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