The Blind Self

Unshapen formulas,
Thought forms, dialectic tones,
Flowing through a mind yet unfulfilled,
What is the use of a cup half empty,

That is not the purpose of a cup half full?

The soul, with fingers,
Stretching through a space unseen,
By eyes so desperate,
They cannot perform, 

Reaching out to grasp the preferred,
The will running wild,

With it's boundless anticipation,
Encounters objects foreign,
Which sometimes the sharpest of minds cannot place,

Finds importance in the experience,
Of the objectified life,
Once transpired, never to repeat again,
With the exception of the unlearned, forgotten, or lost

Lost

Like a needle in a haystack,
Not gone forever, yet awaiting it's reunion,
With the one who dares to feel,
Deeply enough,

The complex of a darkened mind,
Feeling compression from all sides,
Sits in wait of freedom so sweet,
Unaware the prison constructed,
Has been so built,
By the fallacy of the self.

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

"The complexion of a darkened mind,
Feeling compression from all sides,
Sits in wait of freedom so sweet,
Unaware the prison constructed," this really spoke to me in a visceral way. Suffering through depression feels very much this way. Being in a prison but one that is self constructed. Finding it futile to escape as the walls close in. Thank you for sharing your poem with us.

[Indra's Child]

Thank you. I appreciate your review

[Indra's Child]

It is very challenging to live with depression and/or suicidality. I'm very sorry to know you're going through this. I only wish I could make it better for you. The only thing to do is to push forward, up the mountain. Although at times you might fall down, you need to pick yourself up and keep going. It is endless, that is true, but it is not a bad thing in and of itself.