Cluttered, empty spaces, found, but left unkempt

Emotion thrown, strewn about, in moral contempt

Answers, unquestioned, doubt exuded, within

Why on Earth am I? And where shall I begin?

To put the broken pieces, puzzled, back together

No help, those, who only dwell in fairest weather

White clouds follow, over me, pours down the rain

Why is it, no matter what, praise becomes disdain?

Received, but never sent, animosity finds its space

However small, to penetrate, a sacred inner place

To smash the dreams, so broken, and overrun

Now I see where I am. And why I have begun.

 

August Writing Prompts – Finders keepers

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