‘this paradise, lost’
Part I
Departure
The juvenile tempest of my departure was one of longing
and aching in my bones.
Those steel giants have finally closed in on me,
delivering a suffocating feeling
of a life made inconsequential.
The bag I had packed was a pathetic ode
to a man in step only with
the majestic rhythms and schisms
of his own beastly, imprisoned mind.
Part II
The City Slick
Trying to get the dirt and sand back onto my skin,
so desperate to release
the dirty oil of the city slick off my back.
Well-worn stains on my diminished glimmer,
jamming all of my words into tight crevices, impenetrable.
I was leaving the beggar of my own soul.
It wasn’t the reach I was chasing
but those genuine solid moments
when the earth descends upon me
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