Belonging
Culture ages
Too many pieces; fragments of self,
are scattered on the intrepid floor, wipe it clean, wipe me clean,
waters are tempting you to jump in,
fate is tempting you to jump in.
For is it not excellence when ancient whales sing to each other,
in the depths of the grey parts of the deep blue?
If given the opportunity, I shall swim in my suit of armor, cling to shattered pieces of boats floating in oceans and make my way there,
sing to the whale who knows deep within where answers lie.
Life is tempting and a torrent, beautiful and wicked,
soul~self attempts to reach higher peaks, when scattered pieces
of low hanging mounts, seem improbable.
Questions arise; existentialism at it’s finest,
corroding kettles passed from your father’s generation,
probably bore witness to the atrocities of wars,
keeps you feeling, replenished, loved, whole.
