A Stellar Flare of Young Adult Writing and Visual Art

As I Recline

person holding brown sand


As I recline on pillow slip softly
Or stir in stillness of a new day’s morn,
I contemplate my lack of ipseity,
Like a fatherless Christ I am forlorn. 
Even a breath knows it is meant to fade
Yet I am unsure, what is my way? Which 
Gusts not long enough to leave stone engraved,
And like the wind’s direction tends to switch.

Surely I should reflect on my beliefs
Or evaluate my own worn actions,
But hypocrisy allows no relief.
Perhaps, I will only become ashes,
Meant to scatter and blow over the earth.
I only pray to know my name henceforth.

About the Author

Theo is a lover of art.

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This entry was posted on November 9, 2020 by in Poetry and tagged , , .
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