Life itself

All of the time

We were here

Living restlessly

Not at peace in any phase

Life was quietly breathing

Far beneath

Giving birth to itself

Out of emptiness

Why is it that the haunted

Always seek

Something more

Long to fill an emptiness

Self created

Falling deaf to the sounds


And cycles of nature


Why do we forget to step outside

And breathe the air

Feeding instead

On all of these rumblings of despair

Why are we losing touch with

What is most innocent

And pure

Most incorruptible?

For life itself is asking us

All of the time







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