BEING


This empty shell I have become,
drifts, forboding,
across this endless sea,
that we call time.

Dancing between the light,
that falls down between
this splintered forest,
I ponder fate.

This soul,
ancient, wise,
yet incomplete,
decays.

Yet, it lingers on,
a small thread of hope,
tucked inside,
pulsating.

For being,
Is for someone to know you,
and for someone
to remember.

Just some prose that I needed to get outta of mind, been lingering there for awhile.