IfI wereto writeevery dayfor onehundred days,would my soulbe purged ofthis malaise;is it a thingto be dredged,dragged up –twistedand tiedlike tatteredbed sheetsknottedtogether;is therea remedyfor thisscourge;or is thisan inherentrestlessness,a fiery bluespark of eternalangst ignitingpassion – a callto write? (Originally posted February, 2017. Image my own)
Expectations artificialliving in an urban junglelonging for nature’s calm – time moves too swiftlybarely registerlet alone participate We are guests in our ownexpectation’s dysfunctionlicensed for depression a smorgasbord for abuseintentions mislaid,disappointment unavoidable The ego pretends to be openbut she’s an actress off cueplaying out a sentence – condemned to basicspraying to escapethis dystopian malfunction. (Image […]
Daunting and well written piece, VJ. I agree with Punam that we become our own prisoners.
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Yes. Thank you, Eugi
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You’re welcome, VJ.
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Your words and images travel far though…(K)
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Sweet response, K
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You found the perfect photos to accompany your poignant poem, VJ.
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Thanks Tanja
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My pleasure.
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A haunting poem.
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Thanks Liz.
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You’re welcome, VJ.
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Hi VJ, thanks so much for playing along 😀
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😊❤️
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We become our own prisoners. Well crafted, VJ.
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Thank you, Punam.
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I love how you melded realities of time passing, bravery and awareness of it all…thank you, VJ. 💕
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😊💕
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A profound poem VJ 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼
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Thank you, Sadje
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You’re always welcome 💞
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