Spinning

You think

 

you’ve

got

it

all

figured

out.

 

Well,
it’s not true.

 

Don’t kid yourself,
it’s time to understand.
There’s a handle being turned,

we’re just the ones

 

 

spinning.

 

Deja vu,

coincidence,

 

tea leaves

spread across the table.

 

We aren’t able

to reason it out.

 

A conversation,

 

chance encounters.

 

There’s nothing you can do

 

to change it.

 

 

This life

 

didn’t turn out

like the night we thought it would be.

 

Too quick

it gets too dark to see.

It’s not the fun

we thought it’d be.

 

We still feel

 

the joy

when it comes

along.

 

Still smile

at planet earth.

 

Still look at someone,

 

Think:

everything I have,

 

you’re worth.

 

It’s time

to become

 

enlightened.

 

Stop

being frightened.

 

These shadows in our head,

perhaps they’ll always be there

but they can’t kill us.

 

They can’t

 

fill us in shade

if we don’t let them.

 

It’s a good idea,

 

stick out your tongue,

 

bathe it

in the sun.

 

Believe

 

you have won.

 

The world

will be haunted

 

forever

 

but never

our own circumference.

 

Just thinking it

seems to make a difference.

 

Even if it’s slight.

 

Every year will have a summer;

warm grins,

tasty bites,

cold sprite,

play fights,

new sights,

 

friends

 

and more days

with good ends.

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.