This Void which remains Unfilled,
This endless Space inside of Me,
A Pit of Black,
Alone,
I fill with Things to Do,
Tell myself that this will be the Reason to Live,
For me to Fight,
like I did as a Child,
Pit of Black, Ash,
Cold,
This Void,
With No sense of Ground,
No Soil to Catch me,
No Roots deep enough,
To Hold me whilst I Bleed out,
Bleeding out from the very Heart that has fought through the Trenches,
This Void,
This little Girl with her empty Chest,
Empty from the Love that should’ve filled Her,
Empty from the Very Thing that Forms Us,
Love.
So much to Give,
yet a Hole now Dug Up, the size bigger than my Grave,
so Much to Give,
Yet.
Empty,
I am Not Dead,
Or Am I?
So I seek to Remember the Unseen World,
that’s where I must Live to make Sense of this cut up Aortic Valve,
Anchoring myself into the Central Heart,
The Heart of Hearts,
The One of the the Divine,
and to the Underwater World,
Where there is World vaster than this One,
Only I cannot See.
How do People do this thing called Life?
I find myself Floating around,
Seeking to Ground myself somewhere?
Making Home in Love,
A Betrayal blind to the Betrayer and his accomplices,
All drunk in their Delusions,
My Body a Sin, not Theirs.
And yet I still Worry about my Home in Him,
Our Love, unforgetting.
Am I a Bird?
God did you want me to be a bird flying high?
Without Ground to home Me?
Am I to make Nest in the Treetops,
To Oversee what I could never whilst locked away
twenty one years of fear of death
Injected into me, by those who are innately supposed to protect,
The Trees I would pray too,
The Hope in Me of Beauty,
The Sun, The Moon,
Its Stars.
Maybe truly, I am here as a Bird.
flying.