The one who never lived
To my non-existent self
Seeing with new eyes
Every face, shape, and sign
Given to me by faith
Any characteristic range
Envisaged in front of me
With a new perspective
I roll my mouth out
In the pout
Of surprise
That
Things can have the opposite meaning
Depending on the tendency
Of evil around us
In this little playhouse
With our life
Limited to what’s ahead
Small, medium, large
In any possible size
Whenever we allow it to be
Should it always be like this?
That we’ll never break free
From this circle
Until we live?
What if we never lived?
Then
Death happens at the same time
As our withered life?
*
August – December 2021
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Thank you for reading!
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still.
Sylvia Plath
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