There are sounds that are hard to recognize,
Others whose initial hisses awaken memories,
sensations.

We are in between,
In a no man’s land,
In a memory without a master,
In a face without light.

We scratch at the secrets of our souls,
Hoping for redemption.

We carve, without any remorse,
Words of hate into our hearts,
To guide us, to dominate us,
Unaware of their effect on ourselves.

We flee without destination, without reason.
We find ourselves among slabs of ice,
Of which our minds become the prison.
• Utopian Soul -