Things seem to fall apart
Topsy turvy becomes the norm
Money is lost
Tempers take stages
Wagons circle
Battles are waged
I wait silently
for
the dust to settle
for
my choices to appear
for
my path to clear
for
my dreams to take form
The current of nature,
synchronized with all things,
responds to the paddles in my hands
and I glide on a truth of my own making
I've been trying to write this poem for months now. As often happens, when I looked over the many pages of seeming drivel that I have written over those months, a very few lines became salient, and pieced nicely together to make a very simple whole.
Thank you for reading. I love you all very much.
