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I don't feel at home where I am,
or where I spend time; only where,
beyond counting, there's freedom and calm,
that is, waves, that is, space where, when there,
you consist of pure freedom, which, seen,
turns that Gorgon, the crowd, to stone,
to pebbles  and sand . . . where life's mean-
ing lies buried, that never let one
come  within cannon shot yet.
From cloud-covered  wells untold
pour color and light, a fete
of cupids and Ledas in gold.
That is, silk and honey and sheen.
That is, boon and quiver and call.
That is, all that lives to be free,
needing no words at all.
you spend forever searching for who you should be
that uphill climb to self awareness and understanding
once you hit the top of that mountain
it is nothing
nothing like you imagined yourself to be
you still feel empty
unsure if you took the wrong climb
too late to look down now
at what was, and those
what could have beens are too far away
after feeling that emptiness there is always a path forward
maybe its a flat plateau
maybe another mountain
but there is no dead end
keep going
you will find your meaning
and you will know when
because it will be beautiful.

— The End —