I don't belong to their clan,
I'm not what they want.
I'm not a part of their plan.
I won't try to be.
They believe the clouds are the limits,
But how would they know?
For they never reached for the stars.
They find comfort,
In repeating patterns,
And instability,
In twists and turns.
They put bars,
And say 'reality'
They are mistaken for they think,
Limits bring clarity.
They make us forget
The phenomenon we are.
Each one is beautiful,
Each one is variable.
YOU ARE READING
Mend
PoetrySomething's misplaced. It's broken, it's harmed and stabbed and hurt. Our visions are blur for we don't look at what's not visible - what's inside, the power and beauty within and how it is misaligned. We need to heal, we need to mend.
