Walking Poetry
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Withering Home
In the beginning, it was only a small grapple, but I dismissed it into the back of my thoughts. I was still in the city, still at the park, still at home. Life was still normal. I didn’t feel lost, I was still there.
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Life went on and I enjoyed it.
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However at some point, the realization dribbled in into my life that somehow I wasn’t there anymore.
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It didn’t make a lot of sense to me. I was still in the same place. I could see that nothing had changed in the world or around me. So why was I not there anymore?
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Why couldn’t I feel or express myself anymore? I was lost. My thoughts were empty.
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I couldn’t fixate on belonging anymore — yet I searched for a place where I could remain without withering, a place that I could call home.
Unaware
Between the wind.
And the broken chants.
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We’re unaware.
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A spoken word.
A waiving smile.
A parting step.
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We’re unaware.
Thanks for reading.
Love,
Untitled Poet.
