Dig
Into the stomach lining crotchet and stitched with bullets,
swallowed words shot down deep into it.
Frail white cribs hold in some orphans,
where the fostered fears and doubts do lay,
I beat against the ribs and disturb the place they stay.
The deaf organs compose a symphony with themes most awful;
a soul bound and trapped by mortality never knowing how it is truly free.
There’s so much beauty in this world left unseen and unfelt.
Distinguishing only by that grey line bordering the imagination of all that can be –
Merely hindered by the limitations of things as they are, as we see them now.
But all moments transcend to memories leaving us reminiscing with how we once were-
Shadowed only by what we will become,
should we let ourselves see and feel beyond our most realistic expectations
to which I’d reason the only unfoolish expectation is to expect the unexpected.
