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Silently Sweeping Thoughts
I stay situated
upon an antique
dusty leather chair
as the scent
of incense invokes snippets
of half-written pages
from my past...
thunder gently rolls
in from the yonder
while I dive deeper into the
ramshackle that was my life....
forty past midnight
hauntingly strikes
three times
on a cracked clock~
symbolic
I sense middle age
is coldly creeping in...
my home is
deafening still
only the occasional
sound of the hum
of the refrigerator
trauma-fueled dread
has kept me
internally isolated
yet I am not truly alone...
could I have
found inherent happiness
If I had soothed
beastly wounds
before they festered?
is there still time
to clear out this
dominating infection
and suture the lacerations
before my existence
turns to dust~
when my fate’s threads
are finally cut
and the last flicker
of light dies out
from my corporeality?
I want to know
that I tasted
euphoric ecstasy,
for we have no idea
What our afterlife’s
future holds. ..
I think it’s time for me
to ultimately
shake off these
stagnant bones
embrace trepidation
sink into
restorative shadow work,
let my walls finally crumble~
and move
into my tomorrows
with an
emotional tabula rasa.
Copyright ©
Sara Jama
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