[451] The Nostalgic Illness

Disappearing dreams on the edges⁣
of fluttering rotting pages under nimbus clouds⁣
Nostradamus rains all his telic prophecies⁣
of lost potential when the mind is ill⁣
Can you try understanding simplicity⁣
in all its puzzling complexity or⁣
does the mind need a substance ⁣
for it cannot articulate its own disease⁣

Meditative care or empathy⁣
and the presence of mind ⁣
I am present here and now⁣
Finding freedom in the found⁣
Brittle bones and muzzled love⁣
for those who wear their⁣
heart on the sleeve ⁣

They will find their dreams again⁣
once they let the edge go ⁣
for a leap of faith⁣
for faith in love ⁣
They will find their feet again⁣
once they feel renewed⁣
from starting from scratch again⁣
and letting go of the⁣
reconstruction of past memory


Painting by Simon Quaglio

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