Searching

You’ve got your way of doing things
The more you rest, the more it stings
You’ve seen it all before a hundred times

You’ve loved all sorts of folk there are
You’ve written songs and traveled far
You’ve forced the meter into empty rhymes

It’s lost down in the darkness there
Where frosty shoulders chill the air
It’s warmer to look for it in the sun

They’ve looked before you too, my friend
There’s nothing out there in the end
This quest is nowhere near being done

The seeker and the found must become one

Post Categories: Poetry

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