Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Fear of not finding the truth...
Today we are writing about fear, in any way shape or form....
Fear of not finding answers ~
I wish to be unfettered by the news
of plague amid all manner of rumblings
of the earth
From my helpless, hopeless feelings toward
an angry society,
I turn only to what I know to be true,
my experience and what is at hand
I place my pen down on the blank page of
my notebook, where I sit on a twisted
unable to write my life as a book,
or any book, with beginnings, a mid-life,
and a smashing ending.
I pluck yellow flowers, mini-spindled sunbursts,
notwithstanding their deep running roots,
growing from under
the sand at my feet, between wood and smooth rocks
close to the waves
I place the stems on the same page beside
the pen in the book
as the flowers already begin to wilt
Flowers pressed temporarily inside a book,
as I check my mind again for unfound words
How will I know how it all unfolds
after I am gone?
Faint gull calls, a distand train whistle
ride a brisk winds to my ears
Perhaps traveling longer the path I am on
will provide answers, an easing of my fears
I take detours through what is left of the
forest of elegant ideas and
I fear not knowing everything, the sum
of the equation, the punch line of the joke
Is there more? Why or why not nothing else?
I build a small fire with wood shavings and
tinder gathered from the forest's dry floor
I blow on it, hastening the warmth for cold hands
I feel a oneness come over me as
the essence of pine penetrates my soul.