I
see her
the face
is
familiar
every
curve,
every
line
I vaguely
remember
though
it seems
eons
ago;
I miss
her,
I think
she
is me
but
not quite,
not
anymore.
I
see her
the face
is
familiar
every
curve,
every
line
I vaguely
remember
though
it seems
eons
ago;
I miss
her,
I think
she
is me
but
not quite,
not
anymore.
How can
you explain
a loneliness,
a sadness
so pervasive
that
no words
can describe?
When
all that is left
is a hole
while
everything around
is a bustle
of activity?
How can you
explain
anguish, grief,
and strife
when
the war being waged
is within?
When all that
is left
is a pit
while
everything around
is
a merry celebration
how
can you explain
shadows –
overwhelming emptiness
when
I can’t even
explain myself?
Hello again! ^_^ To give you an idea or feel of my book, Unmasked, here are two samples (the poem The Cottage and Living in Faith are part of the poetry novel):
Trance
In space and time
outside looking in
the world sluggishly turns
everyone moves
an hour at a time;
stuck in stasis
I stand at
the edge of existence,
grasping at
the dregs of life.
In Between
The netherworld
beckons
I am neither awake
nor asleep
dreams are impossible
to open eyes
a world here and there
is where I am in
Cold, barren
wasted land;
golden canaries,
singing nightingales
two worlds I have to choose from,
two worlds I have to balance.
How do you go back to a world you feel strongly disconnected from? Where you’ve been heartlessly yanked out and where everyone is engrossed in their own business that you feel like an intruder? You stand in the middle of a crowd who seems to be in a timeless fast-forward mode that you can’t reach out to even one. You watch them having fun; you hear their voices which are a mixture of mirth, sorrow, fun, confusion, hope, anger and regret that you feel so alien. You don’t belong here, that you’re sure of but there’s that vague sense of familiarity; being one of them. No, you are one of them – weren’t you?
There was a time when you were one of them. Now you’re not. You’re just a vessel; no soul, no spirit. You feel so tiny in a vast world. You long to be part of it. Somehow you remember a shared laugh, a happiness, a oneness. It’s all gone though. You want it back but you’re outside, looking in. You want with a wanting that can’t be quenched and though its grip is surprisingly light escape is still bleak. Slowly you realize that despite of your longing, going back to how it was and moving forward to how it will-should be will be very hard. Not because people are harsh. Not because most of your family and friends have abandoned you; and certainly not because you are truly lost. It’s simply because it has always been tough fighting one’s self.