Detritus.
What am I? Not what or who I thought I was. Not that person or being or thing floating, falling endless away from pulsing nature. A cup brimming with life's essence.
It doesn't sustain me.
In my quest and questions I don't find truth.
I find what I can not be. I find strength and love. Be what I can't be. But lately, I find this beggar looking ...for more.
It's okay to feel something there, inside.
I'm not a cross or star. I'm not a smirk on a door.
I find what I am not and it makes me sigh.
Not glamorous, not well... not who I want to be.
So quests and questions yield what I do not want to find
Written on August 30, 2012
I sit with myself and sip from the samovar. I am unable to find the time to explain how awful it is to be low in spirit sometimes. Here, I can have a conversation with myself. Here, I can look back at what I once wrote. Years ago, it seems now. I have to admit that I was scratching at the surface. The ideas for this blog are at least three years in the making.
I'm not a cross or star. I'm not a smirk on a door.
I find what I am not and it makes me sigh.
Not glamorous, not well... not who I want to be.
So quests and questions yield what I do not want to find
Written on August 30, 2012
I sit with myself and sip from the samovar. I am unable to find the time to explain how awful it is to be low in spirit sometimes. Here, I can have a conversation with myself. Here, I can look back at what I once wrote. Years ago, it seems now. I have to admit that I was scratching at the surface. The ideas for this blog are at least three years in the making.
No comments:
Post a Comment