in soul of search mates

 


belonging.

the sad is search and
difficult with all of its
dramatics to turn oneself into a
prize it’s moral

acrobatics we love because
we love to love to need to feel
inside but all that ever was
and is is made of clove and

pride we string along our
platitudes we soon evince our
longing but souls are made of fragile
stuff and yearning for


 

So Many Things

So many things she’s always longed for
Linger there, outside her door;
There’s a passion to her yearning,
Always something, always more

Stuck here, tethered to her sorrows,
Pain, regret and comfort small;
Searching for those new tomorrows,
That she dreams of most of all

Not the life she would have chosen,
Not the girl she would have been;
Stuck in neutral, stiff and frozen,
Comes the longing once again

There: so many things she’s wanted,
Past control and past desire:
Not for riches, nor for glory,
Not for things one can acquire

But for only inner burning,
But for for only greater light;
For so many things, she’s dying –
Past her reach, and
Out of
Sight

Unfulfilled Longing

She set up a tent […]

She set up a tent beneath unfulfilled longing,
Slept on the ground where the mem’ries were fresh;
Morning was wet with a sense of belonging
To somebody somewhere, in spirit and flesh

Spanning the camp, she discovered a river,
Fresh flowed the water from mountains above:
Washing her face, she exhaled with a shiver
The unfulfilled longing
Of being
In love