Accepting of this place.
I am without yearning nor fathoming, nor wishing to change it by my own hand, other than be who I am within my hands.
Still there is the abyss. I stand upon the edge catching a glimpse of all that moves below the surface of everything existance is.
The stongest voice I hear, though silence it my soul does try, remains-
A whisper, a rhyme, a nightingale shrine, the dream from before till tomorrow, the lost puzzle piece, the whole storyline.
I am grateful and peaceful with and for that, and feircly furious on the edges of my maddening mind.