Poetry For Everyday People
The Spirit Of Things
I laid quiet,
still,
the darkness
on top of me,
whispering,
hush,
in my ears,
my mind
not my own,
but an enemy
hunting me,
my heart
racing
someplace
cold,
words from
strangers
invading me
as if they
mattered
in my journey,
the moon
not taking
my calls,
and I had to
come up
with words,
thoughts,
that can save me,
from me,
from the world,
taken the next
step in life
sometimes
never comes
but I intended
to, as I
intended
to keep breathing,
well
is the beginning
of light,
sensitivity
is a gift
not a curse,
but count on it:
they will
try to crucify you
for it.
I read, meditated,
searched my spirit,
my instincts, to find
the gravely necessary
peace away from
heard living,
my mind, my thoughts,
my conclusions,
and those of beautiful
spirits before me
who put soul
before fear,
I've been walking
within a light
beyond most,
a light
I fought for
to an almost
lonely death,
bullsh*it
is a human
staple
that I
loathe,
and
the one's
that think
they can
take my being on
are in
a sad state
of psychological
amateurism.
still,
the darkness
on top of me,
whispering,
hush,
in my ears,
my mind
not my own,
but an enemy
hunting me,
my heart
racing
someplace
cold,
words from
strangers
invading me
as if they
mattered
in my journey,
the moon
not taking
my calls,
and I had to
come up
with words,
thoughts,
that can save me,
from me,
from the world,
taken the next
step in life
sometimes
never comes
but I intended
to, as I
intended
to keep breathing,
well
is the beginning
of light,
sensitivity
is a gift
not a curse,
but count on it:
they will
try to crucify you
for it.
I read, meditated,
searched my spirit,
my instincts, to find
the gravely necessary
peace away from
heard living,
my mind, my thoughts,
my conclusions,
and those of beautiful
spirits before me
who put soul
before fear,
I've been walking
within a light
beyond most,
a light
I fought for
to an almost
lonely death,
bullsh*it
is a human
staple
that I
loathe,
and
the one's
that think
they can
take my being on
are in
a sad state
of psychological
amateurism.
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The Spirit Of Things
The Spirit Of Things
