Sublime

What makes me relegate my feeble feelings?

Time and again, smears of foreboding dark,

arise from behind the veiled façade.

Those shapeless shadows of my past

reaching out for those vacant eyes

like empty rooms weaving tales of grief.

What makes them whisper ill omens of a forgotten time?

Cure for the ailing? A sip of life for the dead?

Oh, what miracles have I missed ruminating

upon my miseries and my misfortunes!

If only my worries were as minuscule

as I often led others to believe,

then maybe I could pretend,

for a moment more,

to be present, to be free.

But I let my mind wander

through those empty rooms,

enticing and seducing;

all so distant––

sublime.