coming home

Like the forest, with all its mystery and deafening silence, I thrive. I like to keep myself beneath the façade of the acceptable. I like to keep it that way, besides it is the only thing left.

Going uphill exhausts and consumes me, nearly taking all the essence. Then I have to ask myself over again, ‘when will this end?’

Opening the door to my office, I sighed. I used to have the ardor of knowing the littlest detail and finding a way how to make everything work in harmony. But now, all I think about is how to survive the day at work.

I prayed for enlightenment. Actually, I ruminate a lot now. How life was and will be. But right this moment, I have one thing certain. It’s time for me to write again.

surge

It is a tingle
Not the kind you’d like to have
Or you yearn to feel.

You sense the heat rise
Heart pumps faster than ever
Cold hands clench hard.

Without a warning
Fingers starts to wildly thump
Writing your way out?

Coming to your wits
You begin to see a soul
Confused and shaken.

When it mellows down
To a degree that shame one
You’d hope it’s not real.

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