What is left to be said?

What is it to be written, what is to be said

When all words are a symbol of red

The heart cannot be captured, the soul expressed

But only experienced, with every breath to be had

I get so tired, of trying to be bred

Bred to act, bred to respond

By every drivel that we are fed

All that there is, all that is to be had

Lies in the still, sweetness of dread

Dread that there’s more, that what is is not

There’s something inside, that seeks to be wed

Wed to the dirt, wed to the suffering

Our souls tell us more, we give it no cred

But when it comes down to it

There’s nothing left to be read.

Oneness, that’s all that is left

No me, no you, no Ted

Nothing left to be said.

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