So many options hurtle through my mind
Latching themselves to logic for no more than pit stops
Ideas dive through chicanes
And screech around hairpins
And always returning to the same place:
Panic.

As each passes I try to leap aboard
To cling on to speeding concepts
But I am either knocked to the ground
Or flung to the side
And crumple into a rag-doll of
Confusion.

But lying here, wrecked, I lose sight of the race
For a while, the sky, the grass, the air all stand still,
My vision returns, filled now with clarity
Colours contrast and no longer fade
And simply, in the midst of my mistake:
Peace.