It Is Not Mine

I look at my foot,

it is not mine;

cold and distant,

white and bloated,

protruding purplish veins,

numb and dead,

it belongs to someone else;

it is not mine;

once more,

standing at the edge,

once more,

looking into the void,

good intentions travel well,

as twisted truth eludes

even the purist of minds,

words whispered in the night,

shout from the lips of the

unborn dying;

there is no beginning,

there is no end;

these prison walls crumble,

barriers become no more,

tomorrow floats away

like beams of incandescent light,

fresh and alive,

drifting with the current,

shadows of distant hills

silently await,

slowly receding into a haze

of empty nothingness,

in the middle of Your depths,

lie wonders of which no

man can speak,

within the quiet of Your perfection,

begins a peace that has

no understanding;

thank you for the revelation,

thank you for the mystery.

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