Tremor of Certainty

In the depths of sorrow I find my hope; as I close my eyes for a few hours rest. Oh the dreary night. Toss and turn; the end is near; this trench of Mariana where glows twinkle equidistant to the stars above. Everyday lines are drawn, in the sand and caverns of my soul, put to paper by the pen despite my pleas. “Forge on” said the voice that echos in the dark, “It may be brief, but we don’t know until we ask our Self.” So many questions and what should be so little time, “it’s wasted if you don’t.” I can’t stand the softness of this guiding presence, “I know, so be happy, or don’t.” I’m not supposed to scratch the itch, so I fight, but all the energy I put into resisting, “you could just be smiling.”

Maybe I should just call.

I’ll see you soon.

-“A lingering hug to protect from doubt…”

No. To venture deeper because that’s where I like to be. I’ve never been a fan of normally, so this natural storm of confusion blew away the rubble covering What Used to Be. I do not fear what I cannot see, but that which I do and is not said, so to address uncertainty, “you are the animal which will not be fed.”


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