Art, change, Death, life, Messages, musings, Poetry, rebirth

LAST GASP.

There’s this space.
This space in time where most falls.
Little remains.
The remains feel like lingering memories of the past.
Not of the now.
Shaking, breaking, repulsively pulling.
Into extremes.
Trying to find the one that once was.
Little remains.
Nothing fills this cup.
In the stillness.
A great eruption of anxiety filled flood flows through the cells.
Speaking a story that it’s time to move.
Liberation.
Move where.
There is nowhere to move.
All has been done.
No purpose in sight.
Just a blank mind.
A sunken heart.
And a last gasp of life.

Helen Rebecca Hart.