Into the Grave
cursed, cursed
saved, saved
we are cursed
we are saved
destined to die
brought back to life
falling into the grave
rising into the skies
into the flames
into the sun
hopeless
hopeful
and abandoned
and taken in
we cry out
we cry out
but our voices sink
and our voices lift
down into the depths
up through the clouds
soon to be our home
soon to be our home
prepared for us
prepared for us
by the darkness
by the light
that consumes
that consumes
cursed, cursed
saved, saved
we are cursed
---
I wrote that 1 year 364 days ago. Funny that it should come to me now. I wanted to be a poet once, but I realized I never would be. Now I see, that it was only at that realization that my poetry stopped. I stopped expressing and started analyzing. I was a poet as long as I didn't worry whether I was one or not.
It is time to pick up the pen again not to create something new of value but to let go of something trapped within.
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