How many beautiful mysteries lie dormant in the fields of my heart?
Not yet stirred from the vast architecture of thoughts and feelings rampant in the world of literature
The theaters of thoreau and the waters of Whitman have yet to be explored, yet to be drunk and digested
And how many more marvelous ones, waiting unknown, dance around the sepulchre of my structured life planned before Me? How much will the humdrum dance of daily routine, ritual work, fire spun drama and hurtled relationship stand between me and the true love, hinting for me to dream about and die with?
What melancholy Rush has swallowed my will, telling me that this life is over even before its summit has been reached? What apathy has drowned my inner child, scoulding any mention of marvel and magnificence? What divinity is suppressed? What ecstasy lay wasted and withering on the carpeted floorboards of my inner self? How did this mold ever grow so ghastly and dampen the dream I once had to live and laugh and love the world with all my heart?
How can I live again?
How may I feel once more?
About the Creator
Nicholas Goodman
Poet. Writer. Avid Tea enthusiast. Truth seeker. Love maker. Wondering what makes the world smile and how I can create that in words.
https://www.instagram.com/alloflovespoetry/
Keep reading
More stories from Nicholas Goodman and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.