trying to find the words that perfectly fit the commotion rumbling inside of my mind
like thunder without lightning to complete the storm
that rages on and on
spilling itself like dried-up ink in an old book
that had been forgotten and left to collect the dust of generations ago
the seeds of inspiration inside of my mind have gone unwatered for so long
it is my paralyzing fear that perhaps they have dried up...
yet,
i am holding onto salvation and hope
until my fingers turn numb and blue
grasping at the straws of liberation and unbounded infinitude
existence and creation do not recognize any limits
neither do words as they stream into the depths of the unconscious
nor do dreams when they appear unimaginably vivid
forgotten words that surface just as innately as they disappear
like one of God's many miracles
like the universe itself that consistently flows
oblivious to all that is rotten, dying, withering away
life grows from the muddiest crevices
in the most neglected parts of the planet
so i water the seeds of my mind
and words teem to complete themselves
in an ode to fill the once-lost gaps of hope.
YOU ARE READING
spilled ink.
Thơ capoetry (/ˈpōətrē/) - words spilling onto paper in the form of emotions. creating an outlet for themselves; turning abstract emotions into a tangible mental image. poetry is not meant to be read, it is meant to be felt. *all written content is orig...
