Buried beneath the suppressed debris, swimming, tussling to grab onto the wooden plank of order and hold on tight for dear life,
squeezed through holes smaller than my soul is ready for.
Sucked into vacuums too sticky for me to leave.
I’m split now, into fragments of the thing I was,
not sure which small reflection to chase
when none of them call my name anymore.
Pure fragrances of the young soul echos, steaming off glass condensated windows, once rose-tinted, now on a spectrum of grey.
We should all be fresh,
ready for the springboard, always –
wizened, broken, withered things
that weep with dreams which need a taste of forever to unravel.
Yet I can’t tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like.
Hoping you’ll catch the feeling like a kite,
run with it,
turning your soul on something real…
Discovering the footing to hover over steady ground, detached from suffering, yet, involved in the transforming of it,
laying on a bed of foundations.
~If you’d like to collaborate, feel free to find my email on this blog’s connect page.~