Towards Clarity

When someone speaks,

do you ever pause

to consider the sheer number

of possible replies?

It can be paralysing,

crippling,

trying to form the right one.

Hesitant,

like nature’s early risers,

you shape the letters on a dry tongue

but they have already moved on.

Only your petrified eyes

and the furrow of your brow

can describe the ease of which

you were left behind,

always catching up.

 

A newborn in the morning,

a sapling

raising it’s mottled neck

through the forest undergrowth.

There are too many choices to make,

too many ways to lean.

Do all paths lead back to each other

or are there some the sun never touches?

Some the warmth never heals,

some remaining licked by darkness?

And what of the wind?

Where will it come roaring in,

from this direction here

or that one there?

 

Angelic or fierce,

a river cannot decide.

Murmuring or coursing,

simply different states of mind.

Whispering lightly

at the feet of passing mammals

and crashing uninhibited,

washing rocks clean.

And making laughter,

all kinds of fun,

for the rafters.

Beautiful in calm

and arousal,

a river wants to be it all.

 

A fresh gem dug from the earth,

a nice prize

or a dangerous surprise?

Wonder and puzzlement.

Scared and awestruck,

your brain is stuck

with creases,

like in misplaced sheets of paper.

Do you hold on,

move into an exciting future you can’t predict

or tuck it back into the dirt,

stay where it’s safe

and you can’t get hurt?

 

The pain is real.

What you feel

seems enduring,

unbeatable

but I have learned it’s curable.

This does not have to last.

Fear and confusion fade

into the past

once you become familiar with it.

The gem is shiny,

you just have to polish it.

 

Stick Around

The steel grates

every time

in my mind.

Doors slam shut

and I start banging on the inside

of my own skull.

Bars and rods take my beating, unmoving.

I get angrier,

frustrated and sad.

Always one feeling remains,

whether when my rage starts

or when my energy is gone at the end,

I believe I haven’t done enough

to make you want

me to stick around,

me to stick around, me to stick around.

I believe I haven’t done enough

for you to want

me to stick around.

 

I said my life is a whirlpool

but maybe it’s a small box

and I’ve wrapped it to fool myself,

keep me from getting out.

But that,

that is better not to think about.