Untangling a Soul

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A poem about finding hope in hopelessness.

Submitted: August 13, 2018

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Submitted: August 13, 2018



The whirlpool is magnificent and everyone is afraid.
The water seems safe, but is far from clear with every junkpiece and conflict rolling right along with the crowd, drowning our way through cold and warm, cuts and collisions, hoping to come out the other side of this chaos, this circle.
We ride around following our hearts and getting nowhere.

Some accept the flow, where they coast along the edge seeking nothing more than that momentary satisfaction and security that they will go around again and again, resting in the predictability of this elaborate trap.

Some try to find the source, wading the waters for answers, navigating closer to the center until the unstoppable rush drowns them mad.
Disorienting, this unrelenting sea, swallowing me.
Everyone revolves around this singular sun, not knowing why and never really bothering to find out, but we all unconsciously search in our own way, looking for only a chance to make ripples in the maelstrom: significance.
I want to,

I want to feel,

I want to feel important but I can't break free from this circle!
So why bother?

Why do we all claw to get above?

The pressure to be bigger than my equal, your equal, for one steaming pile to be greater than another is as fickle as it is unnatural.
Why do we all worship and wander around this grand totem pole, this fallacy we've erected to have one cliché moment of pleasure and a lifetime of hurt and confusion?
Why do I matter?
Do I,

do I make a difference,

do I make a difference to anyone?
I ask this and hear that even a butterfly’s blink can cause hurricanes across the world.
But it's more cryptic than realistic, don't you think?
A flimsy analogy of whimsy and hope that doesn't sail on my tumultuous ocean, my pathways of broken currents, wailing winds, and dead ends.
It's so difficult, this pursuit of significance, when I barely represent a wisp in the whirlpool, a breeze in the sea with salt and foam and storms shoving me where I don't want to go.
I try to make my own path against eight billion other wisps, but I’m swept away without a second thought.

Sometimes they all accidentally align and create or destroy, at least accomplishing something, but just one flurry alone?
Why try,

why try anything,

why should I try to do anything against the unstoppable tide, the entropic slide that we're all running down?
Where is the hope?

Somewhere, everywhere, anywhere, I know there is light.

Despite the anguish, amidst the wreckage and ruins, people are still kind.

I can’t continue to let fear control my life.

There is joy seeping through the cracks in sorrow’s face, peace quietly standing up to war,beauty just outside the darkness, surrounding, encircling its form.

There is proof in my questioning.

I can see beyond my puddle into the vastness, from droplets to starlight.

My soul mirrors the depth, crying out for a different fate, unfulfilled by novelties and diversions.

Reputation will never satisfy my need to be needed.

I have a soul that yearns for love but is blinded by lust.

It longs for more than time can pursue, more than gravity can encompass.

It craves far more than death could ever demand.

The world is not enough and that’s how I know there’s more.

Love exists, meaning exists, I just have to find them.

© Copyright 2018 S.M. Brownsell. All rights reserved.