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It sits upon me, an immense weight stealing my breath.
It grasps my throat with even the thought of utterance, poised to rip away the sound.
Pry away these cold dead fingers that obscure truth, that you might hear it beat again.
Too exhausted fighting through the shrouds, I close my eyes slipping away quiet like death.
Left with hope I might awaken in you.
Let me lead you through an impossible path where barbs peck away flesh and thorns pluck at the eye.
Where we are going, there is no need for an eye to see, nor the flesh to feel.
All that remains is a whisper of innocence.....
"I am but a dream past this gnarled and twisted thicket of pain".
It's not the issue of suffering or that I feel the need to take responsibility for another's. It's the very fact that I can't look away from this vision of myself within an existence where there is no longer suffering; take it away and there is nothing.
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Is this a poem?
I tend to take on the weight of the world; this is a realization of mine that to feel all the pain and torment offers nothing to me or the world.
I cannot change it myself, nor does it help to show the aspects of failure in the world. I must present a gift, a vision, a dream and let it blossom in another's mind.
The realization is that I cannot save anyone, I am offering myself that I might be saved.