by Lucien Valdres on Sat Oct 20, 2012 1:21 am
Sometimes I see a void, an emptiness that beckons
What is it inside, that yearning to strive
For something you cannot see, what is it?, what can it be
Real or a dream, alas it yet remains unseen
All I know is the picture is incomplete
Have I the will to dig and burrow
Tear into me, seeking what unbidden lays hidden
Words with meaning or pointless ramble
But is not the mind a prison of kind
Don't always keep what we should within
Swirling miasma, labyrinthian maze
Some of these days, easier to block out
Then to find voice hoarse from scream or shout
Much I can see within this prose
But lord only knows, the path we chose.