2

squeezing
what dropp is left
from the mind
it is not blood
nothing like
pus, it is air,
this emptiness
that keeps
giving off
what i have not
seen before,
it is crying to be
let out, so i may
give room for
the unknown,
the mysterious
and glorious,
the x and y,
until there is
meaning, a
solution, a
redemption.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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