Musing November 8, 2010

Not really a poem...

There are some feelings you cannot put on paper. They eat at you. They eat at what we call a soul, but cannot identify.

When we find words that appeal to the stress within, we erase them. They are not worthy " but is it the emotion or the word with no worth?

We choose words that flow and ease the pain. They are a temporary remedy to an ailment we cannot cure, but who can cure it? What words on paper could ever dry the tears in my eyes?

We have no right to the cure we seek. It is not ours to have, and we know it.What use have we for one? Are we not meant to suffer the torments we create for ourselves?

Is this consciousness within us meant to be felt? Does it mean anything beyond a feeling of life? Is it even truly consciousness if we cannot give it form?

Author's Note

Not really a poem, just some thoughts i was playing with. Not complete at all...