There comes a time at which the soul
worn out by fear and wandering
pain and greed

lust and loss
simply wants some rest and healing
to alleviate the many holes which penetrate the heart
of abrasions, lacerations, and fractures of endless hurt
that leave us bruised,




and very much so
... incomplete.


There comes a time wherein we find ourselves
with what we call contentment,
with what we call happiness.


And after that,
what then?


Perhaps we'll chase for nothing more
and simply be -

but he pursuit of life, happiness, and liberty
has proved us false.

And the sum of humanity is shown to be
an insensitive, unfeeling
... nothingness.


Not that this is anything close to what I want to be, much less
what we were made for, for we were made to be fulfilled
and not left empty, so what is this gaping hole
from which pours out many
great sorrows,
from my heart?

This gaping hole
can not be sewn up
nor can it be out-medicated,
this inescapable uncertainty,

our human condition of failed finality
can only be remedied by that

which is truly divine,

and until then we are so
... incomplete.




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