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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2223084
Fighting what is inside.
In, and out,
         and out
I listen to my breath
as it passes through,
nourish and sustain
while clearing out the remains
of what I once was,
what I thought I knew.

It is the cycle
of life and death,
sun and season,
tide and moon
that brings me to this conclusion,
that I am – without
question –
part and parcel of…

Anger boils over
as we are reminded of
human feelings, frailty, fear
and unbeknownst to all
that which I suppress in me,
but project through you.

East and west,
north and south,
the players still dance
to haunting tunes,
heralds in the night sky
that draw us in to
skins we do not recognize,
for we are buried deep inside.
But they are us,
and they can not lie.

As I suppress my evil side
I dawn the mask
in which I hide,
from myself more than any

There is no evil here,
                             I cry!

And yet I know
I’m dead inside.
© Copyright 2020 Turtle ~ KanyáthƐko:wa:h (marnts at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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