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Who Is With Me But Me?
Contributed by
invierno
on
Wednesday, 21st October 2015 @ 10:32:35 PM in AEST
Topic:
anguished
|
This Cavern larger than a cantaloupe,
smaller than a watermelon free
of bats or streams;
even dark finds no home inside
this cave of me.
Where do I go to scream,
but inside this cave.
Who hears the echoes bouncing off
these hardened walls I've made.
I do, I do, I do-
I alone reverberate,
commiserate,
cry tears that fall within;
no mind or soul or weepy eyes
can contemplate this place I'm in.
Copyright ©
invierno
... [
2015-10-21 22:32:35]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Who Is With Me But Me?
(User Rating: 1 )
by unknown_utopia on
Wednesday, 21st October 2015 @ 11:46:01 PM AEST
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Gotta release that silent scream somewhere
I wonder if you can hear me
scream
from my cave......
excellent flow. |
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Re: Who Is With Me But Me?
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Thursday, 22nd October 2015 @ 04:22:33 AM AEST
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| The cavern is a grand analogy. The screams resound in isolation. Such a cavern, seemingly, has no entrance, and the walls are soundproof. Powerful and so very poignant. |
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Re: Who Is With Me But Me?
(User Rating: 1 )
by JamesStockdale on
Thursday, 22nd October 2015 @ 06:43:39 AM AEST
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Swallowed up by our own doubts in the dark hole we call life. Full of angst, great flow, and a great poem.
James |
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Re: Who Is With Me But Me?
(User Rating: 1 )
by xHeathenx on
Thursday, 22nd October 2015 @ 02:28:29 PM AEST
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Ultimately we are alone? If that's the case we aren't because we always have our selves to support and entertain us!
Don't I know the familiar feeling of the cavern of which you speak. Good news however, there's a way around the walls' peak.
Nicely done brotha. Love the flow and vibrant expression. :) |
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Re: Who Is With Me But Me?
(User Rating: 1 )
by softerware on
Thursday, 22nd October 2015 @ 11:15:04 PM AEST
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A forlorn call of isolation. many have shared but few have described so vividly.
The terror of life is that we are, for the most part, alone. No one walks with us in that silent world inside our heads.
Our words to ourselves, and with ourselves, about ourselves, tell a story we finally come to believe.
Our astonishing magic is that we can choose to love and honor ourselves, absent of logic, truth, evidence, or witnesses. We truly are more of what we want to be; than what we really are.
softerware |
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