Somewhere Profound

beyond my soul’s profundity
the middle of all
the madness comes apart
feelings made worthless,
feel as such sadness
within me,
my source of comfort cannot explain
these tears that become at times,
immensely loved words I ingest in,
convince me that with each day
being in this muddle,
is a coterie for the weak…
yet, I am standing
in the middle of this muddle
crying, that I may rise
and stand again as man.
I feel I do not deserve,
a loving sister, mother
father, or brother,
to call as familiar or family
life has been at times
blessed and or cursed
with triumph and tragedy,
with bliss and iniquity
loving and supportive friends
and most wicked enemies
kindness and suppressive threats,
thrills and agonies…
Whom, might I ask,
is so good to me that I rise above
is always there to hear
my every query and answer so
listening quietly
to my angst and supplications wrought
constantly feeling
when I’m surrounded by life’s adversity?
I ask what happened
to the happiness and determination
to the vibrant me, who lived within me,
portraying a brave face
manifest in me,
each movement forward
towards that better day
knowing everything is,
and is not, knowing all comes and goes
wisdom’s questioning throes,
tomorrow’s mysteries poised upon
blatant realizations,
and causative sensations
that I cannot win
feeling so lost,
hoping to find those answers,
for my wrong doings
constantly dealing with the emptiness
and unworthiness of me
trying to feel like a whole human being again,
to be set free…
according to the will
and teaching of my God,
I strive forward
to the completeness and contentment
that is surely promised
establishing an inner battle plan,
to work on loving relationships
that I cannot seem to handle life,
or accept my personal failures
I will to see a future versed,
of moral codes and lasting chivalry
am credible as a human being,
and thoroughly dressed for any
battling, hard against
life’s flawing stings and my anger’s fury
he that seethes in me,
and endeavouring to taste of every flower…
that being said, life is an uphill battle,
won of faux filled facts and fun
I cannot see, smell, touch, or hear,
and my taste, well it is obsolete
know what to wear to work,
how to eat hardily, and kill or heal
feelings, like all of my life,
now here is that questioning preposition
are complete mysteries,
and I am not excelling,
in this self-inquisition
meaningless, pontification of one’s in exile self,
on exodus in thoughts
trivial strands of gloss and floss,
catering to those of this same wight
this world owes one nothing,
it’s gift is double goose eggs, fight or flight
sorrowing blares it’s warning,
that you alone are censurable, and criticism
it is pointless, to pinpoint where
this is coming from, really? oh conferee
is not the reasoning of this work,
to bounce around another bards ideals?
unworthy is it, to quest to spin jests,
upon the gest, of one or the other
I however, blame myself,
for not being ambitious enough to clear the air
am smart, and determined enough,
to be aware of my presentation’s err
as those psychologists might describe it,
he is a demagogic peddler
unworthy of the gifts of life,
affection, and success;
but can you guess
intelligent, and gruff enough,
to gnaw through the all of this diatribe
and in one setting,
slash out this work of words
to entice, and invite
accomplished then, my evenings din…
will wisp out oer’ the morrows crowds
as my significant other has laid down the law,
my time is now up and over
you all remember this of me…
I will to write
and write to will
my own endeavours.
p.s. I’m just lost and filled with a dream that screams it’s hyperrealistic

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