What is this Life?
what is the world to cause such an enigma..
the defiant tides that hurl us against the sharpest rocks;
but then leads us to even rockier shores,
but we can only hope that the sand be stained with our blood.
for that is the foolish bliss,
and the most exaggerated harmonies.
to be swift again would be to escape,
so we run to the fortresses.
we test the very limits of our sanity.
a heart was cut out of the clouds for me today;
and a dear friend liberated from a harshness,
too cruel to bear.
but the chains that pinned her down still cling to wrists,
and the edge is so close.
so close that i can hear it breathing,
calling me, clawing down the walls of my haven.
it infects me.
it sinks down deeper than my pores.
and my anxious awaiting leaks out and i feel less and less.
the voice of trite monotonousness is moaning.
i see it dancing on my face; stinging vision none the less;
and then there is a light, staring me in the soul,
and it all brings me back to you.
and i can't figure out why,
but a part of me feels missing still,
as if it were a part of a plan to heal;
but codependently, with me.
the costs may never equal my pay;
but there will always remain, somewhere,
a piece of us that will have to be left behind.
and none of us, not even the mightiest of dieties,
will never see that piece again.
and i am in my place until i feel as a whole again.
all the while wondering if i ever will.