Existential Uncertainty
Beneath a sky of uncommitted rain,
I walk through streets where windows hold no names;
the city flickers like a dying vein
inside the wrist of midnight’s restless frame.
The moon hangs loose, a lantern without shore,
adrift upon the blackened tide of doubt;
each star appears a nail in Heaven’s door,
yet none can tell what waits beyond or out.
I am a suitcase left on some old train,
tagged by forgotten hands and foreign dust;
the years pass through me softly like cold rain
through roofs abandoned long ago to rust.
Sometimes existence feels a borrowed coat
stitched from the shadows of uncertain seams;
we button up our fragile human throat
and speak in currencies of borrowed dreams.
The mind becomes a forest after fire,
charcoal branches sketching broken prayer;
while somewhere underneath the buried mire,
small roots of meaning twist through ruined air.
And still we rise.
Like ships with cracked compasses glowing,
we cross the fog because the heart keeps rowing.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
