resonate
can i tell you of how i met the void?
i long to
but the story itself is too long
i travel only to search for someone
who's ears are as patient
can i tell you of how i met my death?
i long to
if it weren't for my heart that scratches from the inside out
every time i speak of my one unspoken instant
my so solemnly celebrated instant
that haunts me and drives me and revises my charge
i take each step only for the instant that urges me forward
and forwardly marches like a puppet
i am my own string and bones of a larger hand
the one from deeper down
deeper than my own hands can reach or grapple
i can't blame myself for each and every person
i've morphed myself into being
unknowingly, unspoken
i can no longer blame myself
for that of which i have no control, that of which being myself
it is the drive, it is the core, it is the heart, it is the hand,
it is the instant of my death
i long to tell you the story of it
tell me you have the time
but only tell me if you have it
if you are ready to spend the march
not by stopping time
but by defying its presence
by shredding it into something greater than
what we could ever acknowledge it to be
it is the time spent
it is the words spent
it is the surging and the opening
and the long walk into this aching direction
let me tell you this story