Soothesayer

It’s a night for a poem,
For my soul aches for petty pretty things,
And I can’t find a song to soothe,
Not even ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’,
So I’ll be the soothesayer,
To comfort my star wars bones
On this planet alone
Searching for my kind,
And they’re all so detached;
Our parents fucked up love for all of us,
And their parents for them,
Most will do it again
All for a chase of the love they never had,
That’s what makes people dysfunctional,
For the functional are secure
And a misery of rejection for the dejected:
Contrasted with a misery of codependence as escape;
No center balance,
Person is falling into void;
Self-esteem destroyed
The hunger is real,
Thirst pales;
We truly want for them,
To fill us in
Where we cannot be seen,
We grasp into a vacuum:
Space:
Our own emptiness:
Seeing itself in them,
And we are so drawn in,
Lost in them;
The moth burns in the flame
We never win in this dark mirror game;
For there is light in a being of light,
Otherwise, none.

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