For Seekers

Maybe I'm stuck in wishful thinking.
Or the pleasantries of words that keep on sinking.
I am the deepest resident of a trench.


And I write words that some people won't understand.
For the borders of language are not bendable.
The order of my words might be incredible.

It's the compromise.
The decision that cuts through minds.
The splits in the road aren't about making things perfect.
We pour to soothe the places we regret.
And we'll live above it.


We will strive, with pride and reckless abandon.
Days of rain, nights of ritual branding.

And with all that.
I am.

Still stuck down here.


So I write, just to tell you.
Just to reach.
Just to be.