Thriving off a candle's faint light.
As I constructed a moon of the rocks.
Found down a street I walked, once.
When I was young, once.
Exploring induced by burning.
Wood lingering, between my thighs burning.
Thriving in demand of knowledge and proof, wondering.
Discussing a future that could’ve been built for you, with you.
Calling the same numbers at twilight or in an afternoon.
Production of disturbance and interference.
Of a beautiful sound wave.
With an unfortunate turn of events.
I lost the words I used to sing.
I lost the language I used to write in.
I walk with a dictionary to compute phrases out of my mind.
And a map to not get lost in my thoughts.
But I die of yearning.
Yearning for a bright, shiny state of love.
A love I only knew through myself after years of struggling to take a breath.
But in the complexity built in my neural hills and valleys.
I feed my greed for knowledge.
I feed my grand ambitions.
And my mourning star of hope.
Burning in cores of iron and gold.
Dying in a supernova, I was reborn.
In celestial lands, cold to touch.
And hard to understand.
Yet I was born, again.
To try and fix.
And hopefully this time.
- Author: yassinTamam ( Offline)
- Published: November 20th, 2023 12:45
- Comment from author about the poem: serving up God in a burnt coffee pot for the triad.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 4