Spring spring, waiting, nearly, come come, almost really, am I, will I, should I, Why this constant constant inner aching? What oh what stirs my inner making? Thought think mutter fumble, rumble rumble, foolish grumble.
Go go horrid winter, Chance to seek our hidden hinter? Ha, you say, best left unseen, lol, yes, maybe never been? Like the season, serves its part, entered deep in loving Heart the key, as is reflective time, a path of purpose, I now must climb.
Warm warm cosy comfort heat my world, my focus, oh my treat where’s my mind, where’s my soul, what I’m missing to heal me whole Cold cold, you have no hold I can, I will, I must, I shall erase all chill from gloom’s locale.
Wishing wishing steals my now wanting wanting absent how why why I want to know must I endure my sorrow’s snow why why do I, project as fear a constant almost, coming near.
Insisting I insist on wanting wanting what’s to come feeling lost with what I feel desires dumbing what’s already numb yet here I am, spinning spinning Life’s wicked Wheel, round and round the glorious more, falling failing, Hope’s revolving door.
But but, it’s here, it’s in this very front I find and know my longer hunt, Wanting wanting soothing not no no, evades my what.
A shifting grasp of promise yonder On this on this I have to ponder, why why refuse to yield never finding to-be-healed object reject fearful awful truth inward lurks an inner sleuth relentless, thwarted, wasted youth avoidance cultured, most uncouth.
I am, I want, and I desire supple soothing inner fire enough enough to burn me hot if I but only, can allot, to me, what’s not my not.
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