3 minutes ago
Part 3 of the poem maybe
Everything was a fight, the seed with the soil, the bird with the wind, me with the broadening hole.
My vision was hazy, nature, it was supposed to be in harmony, but it all unfolded like a gruesome battlefield.
The little bird, taking the leap of faith, climbing out of the nest, the vulture swooping in midway.
My attention snapped back to the calling, wailing, shouting? Couldn’t say.
The voice led me to a mountain, I was desperate, started climbing, the voice was becoming faint, I was forgetting what I wanted.
When I reached the top, in front of me, lay a thousand things, what was my something? How could I say for sure? For days I sat there, as the abyss spread across my body.
Buckling up my knees, I stood up, dusted that ragged skirt and walked back home.
Maybe someday, I will discern that hole one more time and run in search of that voice again or maybe sleep soundly in my soft sheets, forever, forgetting about the hole, the fight. Who knows, for sure?
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