Friday, November 16, 2007

Swamped Hole

Little becomes more
Slowly, gradually, waiting for time
Pouring and showering me
I ran deeper into it
Running for who knows how long
I didn't stop
I can't stop

I slipped
I broke down
There,
Just by the tree
With the pain from my hands
My knees,
Scarring not only my body
Also my soul

I stand up
I'm resilient
But I get tired
All the lone souls running after me do not
All the pain that sears doesn't too
All those sadness they carry with them

I take them under my weak abode
Believing I am strong
But they are pulling me down
Little becomes more
I know
But I do not stop them