Waiting
we talk about existence
like we talk about
the concept of time
trying to encode our souls
in something
we do not believe in
patterns seem to
make rings around
the heart of the flesh
the soul of the wind
my lips stay loose
for the right words
to slip its way through
but what is a thought
but a creation we waited for
but what is a thought
but a creation that we are waiting for
…because waiting is the message of Creation
we write with existential pens
we love with an
intensity the heavily depends
on the input-output
laws of equilibriums
can we really see?
can we really feel?
can we really exist?
my flesh becomes
a reason to hate myself
and to hate myself
becomes a reason to breathe
i want to be broken
without the feeling of insecurity
but God wants broken vessels.
that’s what the past said to me….
”I am a broken vessel.”
God is a broken vessel
so we twist our fingers to
match the rhythm of the pulse
so we lose our minds
to erase the words that made up
the original thought
and I continue to find myself
to find God
to leave clues for the past life
to find God the Moment.
No One Attending Will Ever Be The Same…..
-Destiny the Poet
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.
