they say that
the centre will hold;
it's a pity
i'm not
centred
at all

in this moment
while the sun enriches
i sit back
with my feet on the table
the great american novel
in my hand
pages whispering
as they turn

eventually
understanding their message
i close the book
lay it aside
turn my face to the sun
and listen;
birds drift and chirp
a breeze soothes all that is crosses
the trees and mountains alike
all remains unchanged
since well before my time

surrounded like this
there is nothing to do
but marvel
with time to just sit
and be;
there is nothing better

a crow
struggling
against something unseen
tries to fly
only to be forced
backwards
further from its goal
with every attempt

it will never realise
it was better off
beforehand
there is no regret
it will simply
keep trying
again
and again
until it succeeds

never thought
i'd be jealous
of
a crow

this rope
should not be pulled
from opposite ends
in opposite directions

what once was straight
is now
a tangled knot;
no direction
can be discerned

my white-knuckled grip
must be relaxed
if
this mess
is to be
made straight

what started so promisingly
has been torn apart
again;
the oblivious
and the abstruse
contribute nothing
but silence.

we are the void
all is numbness
and nothing else

i have no idea
when it started
but
i've been building
for a while now
year on year
brick on brick
everything sacred
                    fragile
safe and protected
behind the fortress walls

a citadel
for the pure
             the honest
                    the real
locked away
hidden
from the risk takers
and the hurtful

safe inside
surely...

realising too late
all i will ever see
is
brick
on
brick
while the beautiful
and miraculous
pass by
out of reach

like a horse
at the end of a whip
i keep circling
answering
each and every
beckoning call
with a smile
held in place by stilts

they have ears
that don't hear
and eyes
that won't see
and
they'll never truly know

i fear i'll never tell them