You know
I couldn't sit down
for the longest time-until now
and realized-that meant I was staying.
In shock
in a new Purgatory
between the life not gone
and the one not yet begun.
Of course
change isn't This to That
transition is a stretched out process
that sinks, tears, and wears on the traveler.
Perhaps progress
is just change
that never arrives-per se
or takes a seat...
Painting by Vilhelm Hammershøi, 'Rest' c. 19905 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
Ghosted
by your own spirit,
soul stuck in a purgatory
until the facts are faced,
finally-
what then?
Lucid flesh like
apparition, unheard
and in between
pain and suffering-despair
and the need to
continue to breathe
cradling the heartbeat,
insisting endurance
and through it.
There was no There
there,
carbon copies of conceit,
echoing
'I was here'.
Nothing gained
without loss,
as if grief gave more
than it took
of Us
Distorted shadow figures
have mistaken
me
for empty.
Painting by Sergey Vinogradov, dated before 1938 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
