Like an entity drifting

Between ballads

Of life and rebirth

To the stoic rhyme

Edging lines of the reaper’s

Grim soliloquy;

Toeing margins of

Light and darkness

Feeling the weightless

Nature of hope

That, by some miracle,

Soothes the intangible fractures

Left by despair—

To be

Uncorrupted by the thorned tongue

With which misery

Opines quarrelsome tales

Only seems obtainable

Through fictitious imaginings;

Has anyone

Ever won the true war

That continues to rage within?

Being human

Is a bottomless well

Filled with convolutions

and conundrums

So much so

That the simplicity of being

Becomes not so simple

At all