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OTHER ITA SITES:
how does it move?
along with the wind they say...
yet with the will to redeploy...
the will is of strength...yet the wind is of madness...
wildly tearing earth's flesh and leading the waves to battle..
now what should become of me? a tiny particle judged against giant sand..
just floating amidst nowhere...seeking off course...forlorn...
hearing the skies' laments..
singing my own dirge..
aiming to catch heaven's tears...
yet mourning for gaining more...
it is of depth but its surface is what is always considered
worthy of critics' words of pretentious wisdom..
witnesses' pity-seeking claims..
of onlookers' self-important accounts meant only to profit alms.
do not disdain my armor..
for it keeps me free of scratch
yet prone to unintentional yet intense cuts
that im hoping to be healed just by a second glimpse of you
yet is growing in depth with the pain that yes, there's a you...
standing not from very far... just an inch away...yet
a million endless horizons in distance..
for all i can keep on doing...
is to be that critic whose pretense is of being happy despite demise..
to be that witness wanting sympathy for such trouncing..
and the most painful... is to be JUST the onlooker...
when i could have been...
what others could have been seeing...
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Travel Part B