A Prose Poem
A poem
The one who came before
The one who named “forms”
When the rain, the wind, your lips
Turn dry and nameless.
When the absurd claims me as one of its
And God denies me of light.
Suspended in that void
Chicken Little holds no candle …
Onto the next world, or to nowhere.To live an existence beyond timeI am here to onset on a journey, incomprehensible to a human mind.
While entangled in life’s repetitive fumblesAn hour seems too long to us in sadnessA year too short to live in happiness
Mirrored cloudsA beating heartTwo plainsAn eden gardenHidden beneathDust landLiving silentlyOut of…
The last few minutes of the setting sun fill our hearts with bittersweet pain.It is the joy of having lived through peace, And the pain of an…