seeking

Identity

Fell through athousand sunsinto an abyssof grindingdarkness suppressed and forcedto stand up,or die what is this place?a genesis,a sproutingup ofcreation claiming my own power,my own will,my own essenceof hummingcoreenergy rooted in freedom,the soul is,as delicate as a doveand cannot becontended with listen to her,listen to her,listen to her By IrieSide, ©2023 Return to Poetry Gallery