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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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