POETRY | MENTAL HEALTH | GRIEF
The Nothingness of Hope Beneath My Feet
Prose Poetry
“O soil, I arrived at your threshold as a multitude of failed fragments. You welcomed me, went back to caressing your sparkling earthy-red minerals. I had so much to say: Just like I’ve forever wanted to munch on a wet clay pot (hypnotized by its odor), I want to ingest/absorb your sparkling minerals forever.”
“I’m surrounded by the trippy trances of your minerals’ hues: Garnet-stone red, warm-greenish red, stone-brick/dripping-pomegranate red, cherry-stained red, scarlet-wound/grey-brownish red, piercing-eyes red/just reddish red, blood-gurgling red, hurting-claret red, inflamed-bluish/sighing yellowish, any red.”
“I am in awe. I want to be one with you. I tried. Now, I just utter. I’m a coward. Every event has its chosen hours, and I shall wait.”
“While I admire you, black-winged starlings warble and soothe my distraught senses. In the depths of your distinct fragrance, I sniff my soul’s decaying remnants very well. I’m losing what I have, in hopes of what I can’t have. Obstinate. Day after day, I’ve barely tried to get out of my self-imposed grimy shells in hopes of nothingness/can’t get what’s lost. These losses are lying on your solid ground, beneath a fast-soaring sludge/will be sealed with fresh…
