born into futility, the futility of being normal; a formality that cannot be, achieved that is, for one such as me. the silence of a lone soul who lived behind the scenes, who hid behind - a necessity in order just to be. a place where non-existence became reality, but what is real when all ends in finality?
i tried to live in darkness, and darkness did live in me
and was one with brutal starkness when all hope went out to sea
to harken, harken, harken to aims that will not be
on planes bereft of pardons and moments of reprieve
an endless loop that hardens all resilience left in me
and to walk an endless moment, when moments we cannot keep
emptiness, my only comfort, as i float upon these seas; abstractions, worlds illusory where mirages of hope, fantômes of being, are not quite sensory. the life of the deported, free, one within the void, and all that's missed within me.
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Author:
Eugene S. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 30th, 2025 10:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments1
A mobius has a hole in the middle and I hear this hole in my reading of the poem. Well written where there is only one side, one dimension
An attempt at writing about negative space. Thanks for reading!
You are most welcome
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