Feel it grow.
Flow it through.
Let it go.
.
In the know,
sensing blue.
Feel it grow.
.
Face the woe.
Change your view.
Let it go.
.
Dig below.
Seek what’s true.
Feel it grow.
.
Join the flow.
Find the clue.
Let it go.
.
Then you slow,
see anew.
Feel it grow.
Let it go.
About the Creator
Lindsay Sfara
I'm just a daydreaming nerd writing poetry and fiction about mental health.
Follow my novel journey and more: linktr.ee/lindsaysfara
"Not all those who wander are lost" - J.R.R. Tolkien
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More stories from Lindsay Sfara and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis7 days ago in Humans
Comments (6)
Well done! I'm a sucker for a good villanelle.
Beautiful meditation! Will try that this evening!
This felt so liberating! Loved your poem so much!
Beautiful poem. Well done.
A wonderful poem.
The shorter lines work really well for this form imo 😁