The sun bows down behind the mountain, and the haze obscures the reticent treeline. In the stillness, secrets whisper the truth of all things.
The destination is non-existent. Only the journey to that end remains. Futility is hiding in the everyday struggles of tension and release to endure, survive and find fulfillment.
Pain and restlessness occupy my days and dreams. These are my companions.
The beautiful meadow no longer holds any joy . What once was a place of solace and rest is now toxic and changed.
The clear waters full of fish, now seem murky and lifeless.
The beautiful maples and pines now resonate images of skeletal shapes and the finite nature of all living things.
The day is coming when all of this becomes too much. My tolerance to the thorns of this reality is eroding.
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Author:
Chagrined (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 31st, 2019 18:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
- Users favorite of this poem: sylviasearcher
Offline)
Comments2
I think I know this feeling.
But you write it with an intoxicating beauty that makes me want to drown in the depths of your dark 😌
Maybe we can embrace the gloom together, creating our own light in the murky depths?
Maybe?
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