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 . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment