I’m sick of this story and I rebuke the world!
All of the madness, lord knows I have hurled.
It is by far reality but hardly anyone sees,
Surrounded by wanting, needing and the ‘entitled’ disease.
In it’s way it is an intricate work of art,
Filled with colours, shapes, shades and what people believe is heart.
Now, I look and all I see is hue,
Just a painting… colours and light but none of it true.
A dreamlike world made from neural senses,
I’ve had enough! But I can’t traverse it’s fences.
This heart is longing for peace unimaginably far,
But how do I touch that when I am surrounded by bizarre?
Man made never as it appears,
When will it stop? My soul is in arrears!
Fooled by eyes, ears, tongue, nose and nerve,
Habits of mind will never serve.
Fabrication upon fabrication burrowing further from light,
I need to run as fast as i can, clear out of sight.
Leaving behind all that is made up in this world,
I’m sick, I’m really sick, this life, this story whorled.
I want rid, it is time, I know,
Not for death but to let go.
To say goodbye to worldly things,
To leave them and cut the strings.
I feel unhealthy filled with emotion,
When all I need is to stop with the motion!
Stillness calls… ”Come sit here,
Find the way, keep going you are near.
Let go for there is no meaning,
Only ever humanly seeming.
What is just is without any stress,
Energy flowing, nothing more, nothing less.”
Enough, a poem By Stacie Amelia (20/12/21)