Sometimes hope is found in the tone of another's voice.
Missing green leaves brings nothing back to life.
Damn the tossed cradle of my existence.
That nothing may soothe my troubled soul.
That though I preach of vision, my strength withers in the midst of my own.
That I can seem to hold onto no dream greater than that which I was born with.
Everything falling to the wayside in the face of infinity and time.
What are the component's of the universe that we each live within?
Where is the consistency of existence?
What were these skin and bones made for?
Where has the beautiful vision of existence I used to hold - where has it gone?
What has become of my universe?
I want out of my head. I want the beauty back.
No comments:
Post a Comment