Wilting, Wilting, Wilting: Shadorma


Waking this morning
Crack of dawn
Welcome to
A carefully manicured
Volatile chaos

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on October 23, 2018, in Poetry, Shadorma and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. I have a dear friend who is incarcerated. He knows this painfully well. 😥

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yes, a similar feeling I’ve had. Not to the prison extent, yet I can see similarities.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Feeling the metaphor….one can be a prisoner of pain. However, as in your other post, there is always refuge. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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