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by Alex Schotzko about a month ago in inspirational
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a chronic pulling of the heart

(my iphone camera really goes ham sometimes)

vastness has a way of

emptying me.

i sit beneath the night sky

swallowed by stillness,

i stand before the wide sea

drowned in its roar.

a thin voice sprouts in the

space left over, familiar

and worn:

i don’t matter,

it whispers.

i’m so small, so


a single fraying thread in

the web of creation.

am i needed?

i walk beside the mountain

and consider

the importance of

a lone flower

i can’t




braves the same voice,

each flower belongs to a bee,

each bee to a drop of honey,

each drop to a cup of something warm,

each cup to a pair of shivering hands,

each hand to the cheek of a beloved,

each cheek to a pale beam of sunlight,

each beam to the petal of a flower

bursting on the mountainside.

the web is woven of single threads

clinging to each other.


About the author

Alex Schotzko

A youthful, crispy chicken tender from P-land, Oregon. Finally decided to turn writing from a dream into a practice. He/him. Just trying to eff the ineffable.

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