deepundergroundpoetry.com
a w i s h
a small speck of dust in familar muck
holds the key to a million riddles
it blooms into a momentous creation
laudable and divine at its very core
far from random and so nearly perfect
the harbinger of peals of laughter
and the soft mist of innocent warmth
it lurches out post the eternal float
from the clandestine yet comforting
darkness that eventually fills in the
colour and mass and every single aspect
that will ever define its existence
its a journey from murky transparence
to the cold bright chaos of a medium
noxious boisterous and yet amidst the
whirling storm there is a serenity
a moment of profound overwhelming in
which there is a sound of a shrill cry
thus the eternal cycle begins to move
it still does albeit in newer paths
higher terrains alien climates but
all of these strangely seem familiar
may it emerge unscathed in the end with
an eternity of beauteous memories that
glow in the evanescent murk of non-being
because this is a mere minute fraction
smaller than your very first sensation
that you have always known since forever
*(Old write)
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