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Aug 2018
Somebody said
if you count to ten
in your head
while holding your breath,

as if breath is an object
with a shape and a texture,

by the end you'll have
forgotten how to breathe.

One.
Two.

And sometimes
you need to pause,
to let every black swatch
of worry evaporate
like crooked puddles.

Three.
Four.

And you feel a trickle
of something under your skin -
perhaps a calmness,
a word not yet invented.

Five.
Six.

In your mind, a clock face,
hands that aren't hands,
numbers.

Seven.
Eight.

Voices wrestle.
Your voice, your voice again.

Nine.
Ten.

Over.

Now, remind yourself
to exhale, see how the scene
becomes clean,
how it felt to hold in
such a temporary thing.
Written: August 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
Reece AJ Chambers
Written by
Reece AJ Chambers  26/M/Northamptonshire, England
(26/M/Northamptonshire, England)   
  694
     Logan Robertson and YΕ«rei
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