7/9/19

Procrastination looks good,
But only on paper.
In hindsight, I knew I could.

Suffocating in atmosphere,
My own thoughts – toxic vapor,
I can’t breathe through the fear.

But what am I fearing?
Strangers? A storekeeper?
Really? God, please start interfering.

My thoughts like a machine gun,
“No, no, no…” I’m captive by this kidnapper,
But We say “No,” to “No” – revolution begun.

Together, We make a plan to conquer,
Shake off this annoying stupor.
Into the darkness like a spelunker.

I can’t lie, it was dark,
But over time, the struggle will taper,
Because a blaze comes from a spark.

Should I ‘respect’ a person
because they have the power
to harm me?
Or,
Should I respect a person
because they are able and willing
to help me
achieve my joy and happiness?

And if you are in any doubt as to your ability,
To effect a change upon this world,
Look no further than a pool of rock water,
Disturbed by a single drop of rain.

Now imagine a torrent.

Imagine your hand is
one hundred days older
Than the hand you use now.
Look at your hand.

What will that hand hold,
in one hundred days from now?
What will that hand have push away
that changes the next one hundred days?

Your hand is younger than it is now
than it will be in one hundred days.
In one hundred days, this hand will
mould and shape and change each way.

This hand is the age you are now,
and this hand is not eternal.
This hand helps you to write and pick up
what you need; reflexes from danger, sometimes.

One hand in one hundred days may be
marked, with a burn or scar or a tattoo.
The other hand may be softer, because
you wore gloves or moisturised by choice.

Or maybe this hand in one hundred days
Will be blistered, from harm you fought with wonder.
Maybe this hand is a blessing forgotten
And you reach for another coffee.

So why are you so focused
on what happened one hundred days ago?
The hand moves, clenches, rests, changes,
like time too.

You will be hurt,
You will recover,
And you will live.

These emotions run wild.
I feel them all to a numb.
They come to exist.
Then they break away to an unknown place.

I don't really know.
It's a confusing world of response.
Jumbled partly in my inner soul.

But i don't really know what the soul is.
Or its true intentions.
Its origin is even more of an enigma.

My heart is full
So much resides there
Memories wish to stop it from beating
Scraps & unforgiveness have tried to choke it out
My heart once ached from betrayal
To stone i thought it would turn
But through all of that
I cant seem to get rid of LOVE
LOVE still lives there
Reassuring me in life I can go on!!!!
As for me & my heart we're gonna be just fine!