Awake cold soul,
As the early morning dew grasps at the tantalising shimmers of sunlight creeping through the silent meadow,
And the birds chirp as if the abstract expression of beauty is delicately escaping their beaks,
Gently swirling through the summer air,
Dancing to the rhythm of life and loves faint touch echoing through eternity –
Arise sullen self,
As the breath of imagination wonders calmly through the mountains of our past,
And the futile feathers of torment diminish beneath the sovereignty of self-understanding,
Gasping for air within the vacuum of our tears,
Serendipitously slithering amidst the delayed anguish of denial,
All but nothing, now –
Ascend dark conscience,
From the slowly torn cracks in the skin of humanity,
Towards the paradoxical paradigm of paradise as the harsh light of reality fades from the possible future to the irreversible present,
Further, further away from the nightmare of existence,
Of constructs and contingencies,
Of the infinite regression of identities,
Caught by the tortuous glance of the introvert,
Now released,
Finally,
From within the silent hours.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of the Anonymous
PoetryThe poetry of the anonymous who suffer through depression in silence; perpetually trapped within a purgatory of painful paradoxes.
