I don't mean to only express myself
Let's turn our gaze outward to something else
Because really, we're nothing
reflections and vapors
our lives seem so long to us then as time tapers
down to the end
it's
getting faster again
and it's time that, my friend
in this time that you spend
looking out for yourself realize your wealth and your life and your thoughts they are
just
so
small.
I'm nothing at all but a freckle of dust
but looking around there are millions of us
there's a picture out there taking shape so we must
have courage and dare to strip off all our lust for
our own affirmation
our self-presentation
must find a foundation in something much bigger than us.
As you cry to be heard pause and listen to hear
for when long you have listened the Light will draw near
and you'll find all the words that you cannot deserve
so please gather the nerve discontent to preserve
And climb outside and point out to the stars over hills
and from you the joy and the knowledge will spill
For expression is best when it's not just for you
My confession is this, let it always be true.

if I can't think what
the problem can be
well, then it just has
to be me!

even if no problem at all
imagination jumps in
kicks me right in the shins
from there a mountain will grow
out of a tiny mole hill, oh woe!

I know this is something I do
I remind myself it's nothing new
yet my senses seem to dislodge
finding ways to my own sabotage.

it's deep in my heart and my mind
a solution I'd sure love to find
to a problem that this time I know
is definitely me...without doubt.

Some people claim that special intuition
to know another person's thoughts and mind.
I do not.

I did not read her like a book, so I read her like a poem.
Her words did not arrange a neat picture of who she was.
So I listened.
I felt
and I paused
straining to hear every moment.
Envisioning.
I reflected, then I listened some more.

I saw patterns repeated,
the strain
and the wince
and I tested hire they felt on my own face

After learning a bit of backstory I flipped back through
what she had said and let the context take effect.

I saw stanzas, couplets, and rhythm

I did not analyze,
I felt,
Hearing her song-story.

I might be wrong.  I might have projected too much of myself, or glanced over a detail.

I can not recite her story or show you her heart,
but I listened to her poem and that is all that I can do.

Have you ever thought that
the weight on your back
might be never-used wings?

Something is stirring inside me.
It urges me,
Surging through
Nagging me.
move, grow, fight, dance.
I miss the quiet and yet
I dread it.
Right now I can not **** nor calm this yearning
And yet I am afraid it will die a natural death before long.