Lost

by on August 5, 2022 :: 0 comments

She marks her way

With pixels on a screen,

Tracing out shapes

To make sense of the visions.

The universe

Is random.

She tells herself.

Not everything

Happens for a reason.

But she hangs on

To the glimmer

Of purpose

Or determination,

Of order

In the chaos.

Hope is the voice

In the dark.

Even if it’s only

Inside her own head.

editors note:

No need for despair or dread. The whole thing is in her head. – mh clay

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