It was so overwhelming -
this thought that rivers of wonder
sweep through me every second...
that I can't see or feel any of it... that what I can see is only an infinitesimally small fraction
of everything there is-
so overwhelming that I had to stop
and consider the possibilities.
If this is true, what of my emptiness?
What of this feeling, this ache inside of me
that poisons possibility
and leaves me ever wanting more?
Perhaps, in truth
I am filled to overflowing,
so much more within me
than I ever once believed.
Perhaps, in this wonder, lies peace.
If this is true,
what of my shame?
What of the stains I wear upon my heart,
distrusts and unforgivenesses,
hatreds and evil wishes
the diseases borne in the depths of my being?
Perhaps, in truth,
I am rinsed clean
by ultraviolet waters,
bathed by the purity of what I cannot see.
Perhaps, in this wonder, lies rebirth.
If this is true, what of my life?
What of the passing of time's tired shadow,
falling long behind me
as the days grow short,
chilling with its thoughts of never and nothingness?
Perhaps in truth,
I exist already.