Another volume, delivered
The involvement and the emotional investment,
They have grown.
Turning into the idea that a way to ease sorrow
Can be felt; the news shared, deserves emphatic empathy
Delivered with concern, true care.
I am here, dear friend, listening with respect
And I am mindful of your experiences,
The fragility of life, parading.
115 notes,
On how to tell the story of pain.
A year to gore the innards with abrupt malice
Funneled through a disease without cure.
2016, an impalement.
Breaking in the upright position
I festooned my misery into a manageable shape
That took me to shreds with impunity.
What does it mean to be broken?
I will never know.
The grist is worth the ingestion of any hurdle
To earn the worth to carry on.
Words in their arrangement serve to protect nothing
Confusion cures ignorance, and that will do
Procurement, a word I adore
As it seeks to attach skill to understanding
Giving way to a comprehension, sublime.
Some stories are not worth understanding,
Certain levels of agony belong caged.
Secrecy is a precursor to composure,
When light requires forgiveness in its lifting.
I know a man that gets this game.
The level of what is at stake,
The wisdom to keep his mouth shut
And the potency of his commitment to restraint.
Such animal mastery is also, bent for secrecy and containment.
It is often the understanding alone that can portion the scales
To the equilibrium needed,
To lead a strong, stout life, worthy of respecting.
Enough hounds prowl without regard
...for more than their
Own hunger.
Pangs of which, once punctured
Care nothing for the kill.
And who cares to hear these musings,
Of lives well lived, and shoulders that never caved
These are words that form little meaning
To none other than Self, who seldom pauses to wonder how
That same self will evaluate and preside
Over the decades spent in well controlled demeanor.
I am leaning forward more and fascinating myself
With potentials that eek of action, and grease eager to spread
Would there come a time where the Now will crave more sprint?
No.
The time is Now. The Will is Present,
And the wisdom to know the difference is
Parading like Maximus in full tilt.
Chisel off the hesitation,
Or the story remains the same.
That languid layer of testifying tongue
Cornering the verbose into paralysis,
Gaining no ground.
The New Order is Intentional
In ways, everlasting.
Powered by would-be oppression
And the nerve to demand:
Better.
Been walking awhile on hesitant turf
Offensively protecting my interests.
Independence is a living act
To be claimed daily with effective patterns
Grindstone tending.
The insanity of repetition
Keeps the average - sated.
I am hunting for something more, than
Satisfaction. I will pursue
Better leverage.
