StillnessA Poem by paracelsianSometimes I am so consumed by fear that I can do nothing but write.the broken earth yields forth its parchment leaves beneath the red glow of a well-wrung rock that forks the sky and shakes the rusted bark. there may still be hope in these stilled waters; not all that glitters is specular stone. there may still be hope but I am afraid. afraid that heaven's eye has passed over the seven sleeper's den, where long I dwelt in unbound bondage to smoke and shadow. afraid that freedom brings with it failure, and that all my words will crumble as ash on the precipice of stillborn silence. I will live or die by this fear; I hope only that I can wring lightning from stone and save those tender dreams I call my own.
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3 Reviews Added on July 20, 2013 Last Updated on July 20, 2013 Tags: fear philosophy doubt existentia AuthorparacelsianAboutI'm a doctoral candidate in a subject that nobody really cares about. I write poetry and prose in the vain hope of connecting with other human beings in a way I otherwise find impossible. more..Writing
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