in ink upon my spine
a space, long drained
there lies a soliloquy
which speaks
in whispers.
unknown sense
and
the universe laughs,
little girl it teases,
your instant gratification
pathos is showing.
let go
of that battle, the owl cries.
your tight grip on time
a ruse.
missy, cried the moon
this agenda you struggle
with...look at me
how i just show up,
breathe soft one, breathe.
laughing the sun shakes
her voice while throwing light
at the moon, i just show up
too, though i'm oft accused
of slipping away.
i understand your battle,
beautiful girl
because like you, they
assume i return unchanged
my fresh form a mere
oversight.
angrily, the daisies
shake their stalks,
ignored, walked upon,
most beings ignorant
to our stature. yet,
we rise from the soil
rich with the droppings of
the dead. new
made of the old.
unsure of their advice
and where to turn
i fold, inward.
the universe's forces, brilliant
and insightful
meant to empower
instead highlight my
inadequacy and lack
of rooting,
nothing more than unknowns
pouring from an
empty vial that whispers
silence and space.
