flight of the trapped (by brookeshaden)
On the tip of your tongue. Something’s wrong with the way I do things. You can feel it. Itching at the back your mind. Something’s not right. And in an attempt for momentary relief, you lash out for one brief moment… To scratch it.
Sit in black water.
Where the whales go swimming.
And return to life.
Return to life as it should be, in the presence of the majestic, in the valley of the unknown. Find the meaning of your own life through your personal truth, and follow the humble sound of silence to the things that matter. Admire ones who admire simplicity. Alcomvick.
