Free-verse. Rough draft. Strange for me. Don't really know where it came from.
Fruitless Searches
Culling the depths of self
Expecting to find the profound
Or at least
The unexpected...
Ah, the sting of expectations!
For what I found
Not profound,
But shallow, really,
The proverbial prodigal child
Cloaked in martyrdom,
but without a welcome home.
Much less than I had hoped,
But hope is like that--
Made of wishes,
Dashed by reality.
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Big Hug
ReplyDeleteThanks Anon...
ReplyDeleteThe poem sounds pretty bleak, but I'm actually not. I think I'm just moody ;-)