Flooding stars,
when sky’s too small.
A thinning moon,
yearning full.
Laughter sharp.
Silence near.
Joy too brief.
Grief too clear.
Tears come steady.
Smiles burn low.
Half-spoken love.
Nowhere to go.
A world too dense,
holding still.
Life spills out
against its will.
In… “too much,”
can I take shape?
Is it enough?
Or just escape?
In the swell
of everything,
has what’s real
found
…nothing
By Sarah © 2025
Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt: plethora (67 words)
By Sarah 