Wednesday, March 4, 2015


That voice so faint and distant,
whispering through words,
which roil and roll in mind;
Where are you meant to be?

How can there be an answer,
when nothing is defined,
nor made clear by life as to
where one is meant to be?

Is there indeed a meant, or,
is there just a succession
of moments strung along
the wire of this existence?

Where sits sullen, while in
shadowed wait is Who, and
curled asleep in the corner is
What, and they do not speak.

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