What is it to be alone?
To create music with words?
To dance without movement?
To see with eyes closed?
Then comes the dread again,
the belly-sickening rawness,
far beyond the tears that fall
in morning tea,
the core untethering from the illusions
of embodiment.
Gripping.
And I know well,
while it brings me to my knees,
It’s nothing,
clearing the way
to everything…
Boundlessness
“Into the mystic…”
31 Friday Jan 2014
Posted in dread, freedom, poems, poetry, Uncategorized
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