Descending

we are
lost

amid our own profundity

or

the inference thereof
at least

platitudes
of desperation
haunting like a dormant plea

just to close our eyes
and still yet see

is not enough
to sate

the all-consuming
fervor

to project
somehow

a vision
that might justify

the burden
of our disposition

frozen
existential fractals

giving way
in their descent

careening toward oblivion

with nothing more
than the solitude

of a solipsistic incarnation

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human. View all posts by Max Meunier