At the end of it all, there is nothing but a mess.
A mass of
all there was,
what could've been,
and what hadn't happened.
.
Every hope,
dream,
achievement and failure,
are all on.
Equal.
The same.
.
But you wouldn't know that if you were in that mess.
All you would feel is a buzzing.
A buzzing that is you,
as much as you are it.
There is no difference between you and the noise.
There is no difference between you and everything.
.
Left to experience the buzzing.
Both absolue.
You are everything
and everything beyond.
But also stagnant.
Stuck in a mess
that feeds you
and starves you.
Giving what you want:
A rest, no knowledge.
.
But you would not know the difference.
You don't need to.
In the mess, you feel whole.
Apart of something,
and love.
The hug of us,
them,
and it.
.
But the thing about life
is that it's a cycle.
At every level, there's some sort of cycle.
Who's to say the mess wouldn't expand again?
Get us to where we are now.
Feeling our space.
Our hearts.
Our Thoughts.
Even the air that didn't exist once.
.
To go back to the beginning and experience again.
About the Creator
Rachael Anra
Hi, my name is Racahel. I'm an Indigenous writer from Arizona who loves poetry, horror, soft fantasys, and biographies. Currently, I am renewing my love for writing by driving back into it!
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Comments (1)
Thinking of life as cyclical can sometimes feel pointless, that we go on again and again without purpose. But your poem conveys hope and curiosity - at least that is the feeling I am left with. Thank you for sharing!