Awaiting

Am naught…
Floating
Sans a sense of direction…
A tiny speck of matter for the Universe…
But with a raging tempest inside…
I am naught…
Except for some things
And thoughts making me what I am…
Thoughts and things
That need to be forgotten but cannot be…
That are easily forgotten but ought not to be…
Living
On the wrong side of life
Torn between conflicting emotions…
My whole being swarming with capsules of hatred for myself…
Vividly recalling
Frozen moments of lost glory…
Devastated hopes and downtrodden dreams…
I drift on
Maneuvering my raft to avoid
The cold fingers of the past
That grapples my body…
Being forced to face
Fresh thoughts and things…
Desperately trying to hang on…
Clutching whatever I can for support…
Straining hard to see
Against the mist
A faint flicker of hope…
A dim outline of the horizon…

Advertisements

4 comments

  1. Pregnant with meanings that the reader may come to, by the environment of their own inner selves, the poem, while self reflective, urges the reader to go within.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s