The Patrick

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  • Confusion

    The Patrick

    You are struggling
    You can not hold on.
    There is nothing else to grasp.
    You suffer.
    You develop anguish.
    Each, time consuming, hectic,
    filled with with so much havoc.
    You ponder, but you can not concentrate.
    You search yourself, but you are too
    busy straying from the jubilant and everlasting pathway.
    You comply to every faultless demand.
    Your mind is crowded with unmerciful
    twists and turns.
    You seek for the beautiful light that gradually
    aviates upon your success.
    And when you finally reach the peack,
    You stumble and plummet down a dark, narrow well.
    You are positioned on your side with wounds
    surrounding greedily from every limb.
    You lay there quietly thinking
    this is the end.
    And when you finally feel like a failure,
    burdening a sunken heart,
    a radiant beam has casted upon your face.
    You are lifted.
    You are light.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    PikchaMeRollinn’s Poems (2)

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    The Patrick 0
    Question Mark. 1