Below is the poem entitled A Glance Within -two of two- which was written by poet
The First Born
The First Forgotten. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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The First Born
The First Forgotten
The First Born The First Forgotten
I asked the shards, whose were on the walls of this narrow corridor.
What is this self? What are this one to do with this life?
Pass through here and we shall write on your husk the answer.
And so this one did, went forth.
Each slice revealed another, once dormant, memoir.
There, at dawn all had to leave their shelter to do what they did not like, for beings they could not care less about.
Every day, from dawn to dusk inside the metal worm accompanied from the faceless shadows.
Turning around, that pain, he was quite familiar with.
This one does not fathom the meaning, told to the shards, all you did was to open this flesh and gifted this one with scars.
No, we wrote on thy husk the emptiness of the meaningless that is to keep going.
Thee went trough us, though them, without desire, got scars, got pain, suffered, struggled. And yet, you need a reason, is not the pain and scars a lesson enough? At the end, you are more empty than before. Why is that?
I do not know. Why?
Forwhy there's no meaning, no higher purpose, no nothing, life itself is a disease, and you know, the other husks as well, how to get rid of it. Keep struggling, if so you wish. But take heed of us, there are nothing worth beyond.
At this point, this one decided to stop looking, he felt empty.
You told me to look, they told me to look, and less than that was not done.
Yet nothing was found, but what this one already knew, but denied.
To breath brings nothing but painfulness episodes to that what you told me to be worth the conflict.
I often get lost within myself.
But she help me find my way out. Cold. Sharp. True to its nature.
One. Two. Three, still cannot feel and you cannot understand, but I am back.
She brought me here.
As it goes dripping down, small portions of me, making small pools of crimson mirros
The very same spot where I can spy all the faces that once hated, where I can hear the laughter, the mockery, once more and feel the eyes judging and the fingers condemning.
I ask the table next to me:
What am I to do with what I've found?
Fill the void in thysellf, she told me.
I knew what she meant. I have to use the needle, the white dust and the stones.
To fly higher than this realm, fly away from myself.
Perchance, to find the end. And after it, may find a purpose...