Literature
Surfacing
My being dismantled, I wander the barren landscape
Pieces retrieved, I slowly awaken, eyes heavy in dismay
Remnants of past filter into being, lost yet found
My labor becomes relevant, my heart beats a symphony
A chill passes in the dream, haunted rumors abound inside
Speak not the forgotten land, for home is now in the heart
I rip free from the morass, stained by deception's clutch
the self's death rattle
is the soul's first breath of life;
we are eternal.