deepundergroundpoetry.com

Bleak

This addiction, affliction;
still searching for the book.
Aisles run on, knowledge's endless gurgling brook.
But is it fact or fiction?

Was fate or free will its writer?
Thoughts so intricate, mind's spiders.
Questions like naked before silent and invisible answers,
Just another clueless, cosmic dancer.

Mystical path of spirit;
mostly feel, occasionally hear it.
Infinite unlike intellect,
Grasping at the ether to comprehend it.

On I fight to find my way,
For stagnant will be my demise.
Yet I'm dead already knowing,
Just another earthling unwise.

Copyrights 2016 Michael J. Kucera
Written by IOWNLISSAPOONTANG (Tabula Rasa 8)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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