Stripped of all flesh and bare to the bone.
– alone in the tundra,
gelid winds cut like a sharpened stone.
Oh, the unbearable pain of the exposed, tortured soul.
Forever split between that and this world
harsh is the path
of the one that is torn.
The wanderer wonders, deprived of all hope
is it even possible
to bring forth new growth?
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I don’t know Claudia … I don’t 😦
But to ask that question indicates a desire … and a desire for growth shows me there is a remnant of hope that can grow.
Beautifully poetry my friend.
you know, I didn’t notice until you mentioned it 🙂
Every now and then I get the poetry bug. I don’t know if it is hope that makes me ask the question but torn and all, I’ll keep ploughing through because there is no other option
you have captured ‘those’ feelings quite well.
Thank you. Sometimes it’s very hard to put them in words but I guess some other times they just flow