Embryonic

I’d love for someone to help me carry these things.
I could do it for myself, and perhaps I should,
but I worry too much what the others will think and say.
“Oh, that is so heavy!” “Where are you going?”
“Why not hold on? You may need it later!”
I know better. Later never comes.
I don’t need these now and that is what is important.
There are so many here serving no purpose.
Why should I hang on to that which is empty?
The emptiness is everywhere,
and these objects are competing for space in my subconscious
with the blank space which rightfully belongs there.

I thought I might build an alter,
but again, the fear of others calling my work ugly
has stopped me before I start.
Every so often I muster up enough strength
to just let it go and give in,
knowing none of it matters tomorrow
and especially not in a million years’ time.

Everything fades to black,
back like when we started,
before beginning.

On Tradition

Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.

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