Jul 2020
I seem to be deaf to the moon.
So pure yet cold,
it's soft light whispering deep
into my soul, lulling me to a peaceful
rest and yet, I turn away
Various seconds, minutes, hours, days,
months, years blow by like the wind;
fleeting and colourless
Am I not just a speck of dust,
a dancing vapour,
a grain of sand that will
crumble and be forgotten?
How I yearn to be more,
transcend through this mortal coil
to be free of any burdens
to not let my emotions gnaw and drink
from the pools of my sense
my securities
my dreams
and turn a woodland meadows
of light, life and birdsongs
into a blackened forest with raining
ash, brimstone sky
My quill and ink are there
but my hand turns to
that of golden stone, beautiful
but stiff
Still lost I am...
Where is the girl I thought I was?
I fear that all I've cloaked
I will one day become...
I know it's all obscure
But I plan to overcome
Imposter syndrome, a demon that is so hard to **** at times.
