Sometimes I feel hopeless, like nothing matters and it never will.
Anything I do is lost in the shallow ripples; the outer ends; the far side.
Anything I do is lost in the shallow ripples; the outer ends; the far side.
Everything I do has purpose, but it is not up to me to ever know this.
It's all hidden behind the trees, behind the rocks, beneath the dirt.
I fall to my knees.
The realest thing I know.
The bottom below me - solid and definite, holding me hard.
The dust on my palms.
The flesh of my knees pushed aside by stone.
I fall with purpose.
I fall without grace.
I fall without shame.
Where is pride when you have no room to stand?
No leg.
No platform.
No desire.
The idea dried within me long ago, like an ancient well;
Bubbling springs of youth, long gone,
Swallowed by the sacred sun.
Skin.
Flesh.
No meaning.
What lies beneath?
What stands behind this reality, like a two way mirror,
Mocking my vulnerability?
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