There are eccentricities about time that many… will never get.
Similar to chasing the family pet.
There is a mortal need to have it all around.
Thou, it is injured and too tightly wound.
It may surface that there are brisk critics regaled for being too passionately black.
And, those willing to make the ‘devil’s pact.’
As followed, before, the ache arrived, minutes filled the air.
As original as, the snowflakes in which we place our grateful cares.
Mind over the matters of time.
The pain of neutral.
No joy from fast forward or rewind.
For myself, revelations, on a dusky December day,
That, I too, conceded,
from the comfort of living in the in between.
There had been a frozen dust to the air.
It covered my tracks…
Or, considerate me…
I found myself not lost…for I never looked back.
…condensed in the snow…as dark and sorrowful as the northern wind will blow…
…only the truth of distrust lies in the shadows…distant as a mother’s touch…
…pain knows I am a fool…no one understands this…better than I do…
…this discomfort…the blink of an icy pond…no longer lingered upon…
…agony taunts me…reminds me of who I used to be…
…pain is a constantly unraveling thread to the tapestry of my soul…
the Mills, Franklin NH
Don’t want to walk through the pain.
But the want…
are not the same.
There is no religion to the agony.
There is no need for the ache’s shame.
only the want remains.
Only remains a cast of shadow in the day.
The day I stop…
walking through the pain.
Time and newness, as of late, want to collide.
Casting shadows upon all that I find.
There is no absolute.
Of this, I am sure.
Yet, into every blind driveway, I stumble looking for a cure.
Respite never lay ahead.
It is only the illusion of a detour.