frayed but full to four edges
marginalised annotations leaving nothing unsaid
over the bleeding watermark shouting its insistence:

nothing is ever finished only paused pending further
inspiration from yet unheard whispers from beyond
the perimeters of an ensnared inner page of rage

Brave to ask.

   Wise to listen.

      Inspired to act.

         Transformation.

Sometimes,
and sometimes, just as I try
to doze on a sofa,
when I have nothing demanding to do
and I have time when I can
while away some time alone -

Sometimes like that,
I find my mind wandering,
I find myself wondering

"What if?"

I examine the sliding doors
The life choices
The milestones
that mark past crossroads.

And I story-tell, I dream-walk
I wander down roads not travelled.

And from that sofa
I wonder if I might now just about see
the next significant junction
on my horizon.

And in that wonder moment,
I promise the Makers of my turnings
that, this time, I'll be more adventurous
I'll trust Them more.
I'll take the road that carries
a little more risk, a little less certainty.

I pledge to not roadmap my journey,
at least not quite as much
as I typically do.
And I will entrust the future
into the more capable hands of those
who have no need for What ifs.  

I can trust the Makers, for
they know what lies ahead.
They have been there
and they can each see way more
than I can
from my sofa.

I can't enjoy unearned grace.
Where's the satisfaction in that?
Unfounded mercy sits uneasy
with self-respect,
(or with self-contempt come to that).

I can't enjoy what I don't deserve.
But it's not the problem you believe;
you see, I am fully self-assured
of what I've earned
And it's more than you'd conceive.

So, you can gift your lavish grace,
on those in acknowledged penury,
on those who are sufficiently naive
to foolishly believe
that they are in need of mercy.

But that's not me.

Of the reading of maps
and the keeping of diaries
there is no end,
but the LORD directs those who pause at dawn.

It seems wise to number,
to measure appears right to the mortal mind.
What is time,
but our need to gauge eternity?

We search without regard.  
We take the answer
before we finish the question.
But Wisdom rewards those who return to her.

We watch when we should sleep.  
We linger when we should walk.  
Much is gained by those who mute temptation.

A true friend is found in joined silence.  
Likes do little to feed the soul.

Turn the page clockwise,
a full one-eighty degrees. 
 
Any further and you’ll lose perspective.  
Any less and you’ll slip back.  

That’s not irretrievable,
and you’ll probably
have an opportunity to re-cover.
You might re-live and re-peat,
but if you make it a habit,
you’ll get stuck in a loop
never breaking out of the prologue.

Stick to the clockwise-one-eighty approach
and you’ll myth like a Makar.
You’ll story, fable and yarn.
You’ll chronicle and tale.
You’ll saga.  

That is what we call a true page turner.

When is a scooter
not a scooter?
When you don't scoot,
and I'm the scooter-
pusher.