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  • Writer's picturevelezv314

Psych Sounds and Visions #4 Driven

No spark, no inspiration. No consolation.

A dry, arid desert of sand streams.

No oasis. Not even a mirage.

Sea level doesn’t save.

A windless barren tundra.

High heaven cannot tame.

No pulse.

Push nor pull.

No sway. Nothing wants to stay.

Subtle, elusive, unclear obscurity.

Perhaps a soft dullness, blunt edge and tenderness.

A monotone overcast.

Unilluminated serious forecast.


Perhaps spent, depleted, consumed.

Sheer bleakness, desolation, desperation, distress.

Mere cheerfulness, happiness, liveliness, playfulness.

Perhaps too much equanimity.

Maybe it’s the quiet serenity.

Somber soberness yet there’s an insisting, hankering, indoctrinating persuasion.

To produce, perform, to prove.

To be accepted, admired, appreciated.

To feel worthy and enough.

The search for adoration.

At first, shallow love in academics.

An A plus. Nothing below a hundred.

GPA affection.


Not enough to fill the void.

Grasping idolatries to tame the game.

Devour, rage, ravage.

Eradicate the gnawing incessant pain.

Now creativity is taking inventory.

Stipulating identity and there’s still a deficiency.

Where’s my dignity?

My bones will decay and my name will fade away.

Left behind, acrylics washed away by the rising seas.

Swallowed up by Mama Earth.

Recycling my tendencies.

What will be of me?

If not swimming in cosmic seas.

And how strong is this grip?

When it's all so tense and heavy.

Future promises.

Enticing path just ahead.

Cheap, fantasy elixirs to the temporary impermanence.

Conditioned, inculcated ignorance.

Separation and Judgement.

Sparks of awareness.

Flash of presence.

Loosens and lightness.

Exploding into nothingness.

Faith and trust illuminate the dark forest.

Living among the trees.

Where I am reminded to breathe.

Let it be. It just is. All there is.

Let go. Let God. Surrender. Give up control for sweet serenity.

Because I am enough without degrees and accolades of the modern day.

Without art, I Am just the same.

And if ripe clouds were to drop rain.

I welcome the spontaneous sustenance.

And if lotuses were to become stuck in muddy stagnation.

May it all be just the same.

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