Complex ideas are my favorite.
Literal puzzle pieces scattered in my brain—
rigid and out of order, yet notably
assembled in depth.
The art of being whelmed.
To love and to lose,
both carrying the same weight.
Engulfed by both,
engaged through loss and fulfillment.
Pulled by the whelm of life,
forced to engage
while wishing for peace.
Seeking connection,
contracting a virus instead.
Negativity in its truest form—
naive minds, saturated bodies.
The foundation plucks along seamlessly,
while faces age,
wrinkles invade.
What is left to show
for the boundlessness
of our being?
Whelmed by life,
by loss,
by forgiveness.
Whelmed by love.
Whelmed by depression
and mental disaster.
Whelmed by the enemy.
Whelmed is consuming—
an unconscious, constant repetition
in the minds of the living.
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