I haven’t breathed lately. I didn’t focus on breathing. I didn’t know if my diaphragm tightened and my chest rose every time I inhaled.
I didn’t look at the sky. I don’t know if they are blue, orange, or violet or in shades of grey like life?
I didn’t watch videos of the sea. I have had sentiments with the sea that I do not talk about, but they exist so silent, so fierce. I stay quiet every time someone uses “sea” in their sentence, like I remain numb when someone talks about that one particular person.
I didn’t write lately. Filling pages in a journal feels like a task, and there are times I feel horrible about it. Have I begun to drift away from everything I love?
Today, I do not have anything in mind. Maybe, like that post, I have a long list of things to be grateful for. And things that go away go for all good; maybe, yes.
Frameofsoul 
peace sister
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Oh How Life May Take Us Away From
Colors Dear Hemalatha Almost Predictably
When The Pandemic Came And Folks Then Were
Forced into Their Homes With Space For Introspection
Away From All the Mechanical Cognition That School And Work
Brings Art Rose
From Soul
RiSinG
To Speak
Ocean Deep
Birth To Come
In Arts Like Poetry
mY FRiEnD iNDeeD
True i Was Already Shut-in
Like That For 66 Months Escaping
CuLTuRE With So Much Pain and Numb
From Stress Related Illnesses Totaling 19 then
Yet In The Dungeon Doors Continued to Crack Open
For It is True if the LiGHT is Too BRiGHT We May Not Be
Able to See What is in New Rooms at All Yet if the Flame
is FRiEnDLY
Enough
Oh What We
May Find After
Seeking The Great
Unknown All These
Rooms to Crack Open
Within to Explore Even More
Yet You See mY FRiEnD The Doors
Come to Us Free And The Flames in The Rooms
Yet True We Must Make Room For That to Happen
So Hard to Do in A World of ‘Things’ More Than Feelings mY FRiEnD
As It’s True the Pandemic Faded Away And Folks Went Back to Play
Their Parts
Dutifully
As Cogs
in All the
CuLTuRaLLY
Enhanced Machines
Oh The Keys Keep The
Colors Garden Them New
Within Through Whatever
Arts Come FLoWinG Free
Master The Tool Do Not
Become Slave or the Form of the
Tool A Shell With no Sea Life Left mY FRiEnD…:)
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