I Am

Tyrone Graham
Aug 27, 2017 · 1 min read

That shapeless pink blob quivering
in a monstrous heap —
as monstrous as a bleached skull
over which willows weep —
is no more than a pink mist shimmering
over distant desert dunes —
a mirage from whose malicious magic
no lost traveler is immune.
It mocks one with an illusion glowing
like a miraculous oasis —
an oasis that glitters like gold and knows
character is revealed in a crisis —
and it speaks, insisting “I am happiness;
I am your fulfillment;
and I am the element of utter hopelessness
the Maker thought essential for development.”

The New North

// Home of storytellers // Facebook: @thenewnorth

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Tyrone Graham

Written by

In the beginning was the word. And I got paid for it.

The New North

// Home of storytellers // Facebook: @thenewnorth

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