A walk…

Walking through me
Is a form of myself
Utterly lost, and searching.
Looking for nothing.

Walking through me
I find muses strewn
In sighs and tears
Betrayed and broken.
Talking of nothing.

Walking through me
In the flow of my blood
I miss the drift of warmth
Of love.
All lost for nothing.

Walking through me
Myself in forms
And myself, formless
A thread to God
And myself, deformed
An anchor to life
Vacillating between the
Poles of being.

And nothing, nothing is to be said.

Nothing to be said
As I walk through me alone
Nothing to find
As I look for something I’ve never seen
Nothing to be felt
As I inflict the confessions of conflicts
Nothing to be gained
As I hear the mute prophecy of fate
Nothing to be lost
As I read of the battles of destiny.

Walking through me
I find my answers
questioned again
Discovering anew
Old chaffs of pain.