The sky is always wide eyed for my reception
if I have a need to look up for approval.
My motor, for all practical purposes,
runs on high
and I don’t really know how or basically why.
You’d think achievement was the obvious goal but not.
I make up obligations,
such as basic caring, deductive needs
that capture my attention.
I can even run ahead of myself
and wonder why and how did this internally happen.
I have a strong notion of family
but, at times, that includes all kinds of folks
that wouldn’t seem obvious, even to me.
I have an insatiable inside me,
maybe of me.
We privately get along,
although that part of me sometimes runs ahead
and I am identified as the part of me
trying to catch up.
All of which is very second nature by now
although the internal dialogue finds me secretly displaced.
Everyone here knows only my social side,
not my essential side.
Hence, my internal guitar gently weeps.
If I strum along something inwardly to hum,
the acoustics reverberate back to me
that I am in a cathedral of self,
tall, deep and wide
but alone with no choir to join me or respond.
Therefore I play it so softly, privately,
if and when I can.
The lyrics seem so clear to me
but no shared feelings comes to words
that I can speak,
and so I say it to myself
as if I am my own weaver
of these heartfelt dreams.
I internally look to the big sky
ever present as above,
and allow my soul sadness
to softly harmonize with what keeps me.
Like a lone coyote calling out
in the spirit of night
for emotional connection,
I trust in the prairie of my busyness
but thrive on the doggedness of my search.
Mammoth shapes my murmurs;
dynamo breathes light
into these weep-miniscules of my prayer . . .