HiveComb

#Greetings friends!

(pixabay free image)

My mind-like a restless tide,
wanders without anchor, without aim.
For me- no path calls out, no destination waits.
Life, it seems, is just motion without meaning.

I once believed
the fault was mine alone.
But even that belief was another illusion,
That I had in my mind too.

This world is a maze for every living soul,
where even the stars forget their way home.

We are no chosen one.
No cosmic plot twists for people like us as I sometimes think so.
Nature treats us as we treat a stray insect—
indifferent, unknowing,
passing without care.

The only difference?
We feel it.
We name the ache.
We write poems to the void
and call it healing.

Darkness is the default.
The light we chase
is borrowed,
reflected from others,
and never truly ours.

Still, we walk.
Still, we wonder.
Still, we hope
that even in the drift,
something will hold.

This poem is written by me. If it has any similarity with any other poem, it will be a pure coincidence.