Left of the Left-overs

I sense I am full…so much
in bloom; anxious to pen
all strayed voices, wandering
the winding mazes, split by
crevices of consciousness.

But I’m solemnly empty,
laying bare in the vacuum
of an infinite valley:
She marks birth, death, re-birth,
Hence she imitates home for now….
the ‘now’ that followed ‘then’,
so long ago!

The ‘then’ saw me clothed
in garments befitting anyone,
but my sorrowful self;
my woed utterance
being nothing but a plea,
to any entity, familiar
with the language of my
dormant, cancerous eyes.

The ‘now’ is lighter, devoid of lies.