A return to a poem I've long liked but ever left in first draft.
Thank you, too, to those that leave encouraging comments!
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Reckless roaming in empty mind spaces, just hoping to stumble.
There are thoughts inevitable, pathways we must trod, prisoner to them without intent or design, or even true desire.
Why struggle against that which is, cowering behind clarity and fake bullshit appeasement? We are truthful, unique, bent, forceful, passionate, insane, and more real than sunlight or freshly turned earth.
There is no scent of green grass for us, no blossomed cherry tree. Free of beauty we see ugly, feel pain, choose it to be it, to struggle with inside to better know outside
To make excuses we smile false smiles and write for false gods, but find ourselves unwilling apostles talking two faced and nodding all the time, still roaming recklessly in our empty mind spaces.
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