Illness,
such as it is,
has been a muse
if nothing else.
Though there is a line
where past
even impassioned desire
falters.
I found it.
Finally, I'm feeling more myself
and can return
to this.
I feel the yin yang's
curse.
Overwhelming blessing
tempered
with persistent reminders
of mortality.
It seems I am unable
to have one
without
the other.
"Such is the way,
such is the truth,"
it is said.
I've never put faith
in such superstition,
though it feels hard to deny lately.
I scream into the void.
What is a life without problems to solve?
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