I write to you out of lack today.
I come to you with nothing to say
I seem to come to this place
Thoughts I’d like to erase
Memories without a trace
Of dignity left inside me
And I wonder will I forever
be always seeking
never coming to the full
knowledge of anything
significant…
If I do
will I find
what lies behind
The hope that drives
me on
meaninglessness….
Will I have spent
all this time seeking
something that is
unattainable
grasping at ghosts…
Standing against
the very wind
that threatens
the very life
I cling to…
Realizing
grasping and clinging
is more desperation
to scoop up what’s
left of my dignity
Because I know
this only
perpetuates more
feverish dancing about
on the threshing floor
perhaps to glean
one stalk, one twig
of normalcy
What is normal?