Century Of Seclusion

We run in circles

Chasing the but end of societies knives

Lending a helping sensation

To remember that we are still here

One finds an element of stimulation

Through desired internal retribution

Welcomed as simply as opening a portal

To an otherwise closed realm

Our screams become soft whispers

Portraying a century of seclusion

Among a weakened illusion

Though what we see

What we feel

Never coincides with the automatic


Of opening a heart

Just to watch it drain

We are numb

Numb to life’s circumstance

Though what is lost

Has potential to be found

We choose however

To stand on the left side of broken

Allowing the weight of our past

To hinder our motions

Letting antique reflections

Dictate our course towards

A life we’ve always embodied

But a life we never lived

Mike Casavant


Pic. By Thomas Saliot

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