Saturday, February 25, 2006


25 February 2006, 4:06 PM

That appetite is corrupt
which cannot be satisfied
with its rightful food

I used to pity birds
sun and moon
for the repetitive nature of their lives
I could not imagine the emptiness
which must be entailed
within such an existence

I have lost such pity as I realize
it is I who have the perpetually
monotonous experience
of dissatisfaction
restlessness and searching for something more
something to fill the emptiness
creeping about in the darkness of solitude
or just as often
in the forgetfulness of meaningless
or meaningful company

In the midst of distraction
or in the deafening silence of solitary moments
I forget who I am
what I am
and what I am meant for
I become ravenous for what I cannot name
and it seems an eternity since I have tasted
my rightful food
by no fault of the provision

it left me hungry

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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