Photo by Lleo RR
I know what it's like to look at the monuments we build, aspiring greatness in which ever moniker, guise, or silhouette the definition may carry / a vehicle recognizing success from let’s say failure / acceptance from ridicule / traveling above such harsh terrains that may even confront some obstacle yet to fall from the sky, the unknown, the infinite greatness that lay in wait. What lay on the inside / tis truly frightening / the core of ones being / and selves / our center.
Even reaching back to our earliest memory is a challenge, distinguishing what is real and nightmare, what terrains are buried there. We know them and brave the chance of sharing them with others / that our travel may not feel so lonely / aggrieved by what happened our way / what we didn't choose / the holocaust of misunderstanding and torment / hitting us with WHY the way lightning scorches the surface / and anything attached to it.
Awaiting a disaster which may or may never occur the surface layers of our character and memory will meld together such skin to bury over in time what only we can give testament, sensitive in those areas which requires its space, and provide warning where violated; were a violation to take place.
Does it make us stronger or more cautious / just weary of the troublesome performance of putting on a face to remain among the living / tiresome terrain…so tired.
What is left to keep us going, what keeps us detained in this frame that cementation has somehow passed on into our own life cycle until once again we are close to the center / as close as the sky is allowed to be to its mother and still be sky / as close as stars can be to other stars and not collide / as close as the moon can be to the sun without withdrawing from its earth / hemispheres within hemispheres / we are all determined by hurt.