The ice of winter grew thick
Encasing the world in a slippery custom made glass case
And stopping everything in its tracks
I sent my heart and soul North
Hoping to mitigate the damage to self
Until the ice thawed

But it never did
As time marched forward it became clear by the thickening of the shining hardened plastic suffocating the earth and plants

There would be no thaw
And now, encased in the ice myself
I can only wonder what my wandering and uplifted spirit can do without me

Forced to be an observer from a distance
I sob over my own hollowed out remnants of the future and present
I weep for each laugh and giggle missed by my soul
I shed a tear for every day I miss and every milestone I won't see

If this was the right decision, I desperately wish I could be a selfish version of myself

If this was the right decision why does my bleeding heart scream at me in pure agony

If this was the right decision why does it hurt this much to be right

Mr. Frost, so prolific that you are
I was hoping that you could advise
For I find myself in a yellow wood
And I too am but just one traveler
My two feet can only tread in one direction

And I long to leave a black boot mark
While I continue down the right path
Leading me so expertly to destiny
But much like you, obstacles arise
But unlike you, my path further divides

Where you stood before a fork
I now spy a great and twisted rake
That fills me with impending dread
Paths varied in their wear and tear
From paved to grassy, or overgrown

Mr. Frost, here is my dilemma
You chose the path less traveled
And it made all the difference in your life
But how can one traveler ever know
Which specific path for them is right?

If I could just escape the sticky binds, the glue
Take new shape above landscape to find a birds eye view
But I’m buried so deep in this riddle
Mind enslaved to keep me in the middle
In a haze I circle lost in endless maze
Fear breeds so easily in confusion
From in here It appears there’s no solution
How easy it would be
To plot a route and be free
If a bird would just lend me its eyes
Or if, for a moment, on its wings I could fly
Then how this maze would loose its enchanting grip
No longer crazed
From it’s vicelike hold I could slip.
How assuring it might be to know the outcome of each turn
But then how boring to move forwards with never anything to learn
Each corner holds an untold story
Though torn we choose
Towards loss or glory
Never to know what might have been
Never shown the paths we haven’t seen
We face doubts
Regrets
We place our bets
Can’t be certain
Can’t go back
Don’t know what’s lurking
What might attack
But of one thing we can sure
We’ll never find a cure
For the condition of the human mind
Causing it to always find the time
To question our every action
Sending ourselves into distraction
Over all the things that can’t be changed
It’s just the way we’ve always behaved!

Just be kind
Let go of resentment
Quit picking old scars
They've healed long ago
Trauma is so much a part
Of your identity
Who could you possibly be
If you let yourself heal completely?
Would you recognize the reflection
When the fog is wiped from the mirror?
Or are you still in creation mode
Taking pieces of everyone else
Trying on their skin to see how it wears
See how it feels against your issues
What are we but a mere construct
Of experiences and observations
Picked from those around us

Will it make you full of joy?
Will it be too many calories?
Will it make you worry?
Will it help you not worry?
Will it make you have regrets?
Will it make you sick?
Will it be calling your name?
Will it make you happy?
Will it satisfy you?
For... how ...long?
If you can, you should.
If you can’t, then don’t.

Apple or tangerine?

Apple or tangerine?

What should I eat this morning?

Is it important?

Will the wrong choice destroy my day?

Is there a way to tell the difference?

Is there a wrong choice?

Or am I wasting my precious
time casting doubts?

Or is this the path of purpose,
to see one’s choices as if they
matter in the details that make the
fibres and stitching of the grand scheme?

Have I figured it out?

Or is that my ego craving importance?

What if there’s-


Crap, I have to go.

Guess I’ll have the banana.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet