It
It tickles my mind constantly.
It wakes me with playful nudges.
Sings me to sleep with the softest of lullabies.
During the in between
It is a soundtrack of wanting
wondering and imagination.
It bleeds into every poem.
It is factored in every decision.
It is not aware of its power.
It is oblivious.
I hope.
A conversation I have with myself
more often than I like to admit.
I assume this of course,
to protect my own fragile ego.
For it could not act in such a way
intentionally.
Look...here it is again,
manipulating the course of the words
kidnapping my muse
It runs away with my pen
through the words of the greats
the lyrics of the masters
backwards
on the truest path
and look at me run
all too happy to follow...
ending up further from me
than I could have ever imagined.
It wakes me with playful nudges.
Sings me to sleep with the softest of lullabies.
During the in between
It is a soundtrack of wanting
wondering and imagination.
It bleeds into every poem.
It is factored in every decision.
It is not aware of its power.
It is oblivious.
I hope.
A conversation I have with myself
more often than I like to admit.
I assume this of course,
to protect my own fragile ego.
For it could not act in such a way
intentionally.
Look...here it is again,
manipulating the course of the words
kidnapping my muse
It runs away with my pen
through the words of the greats
the lyrics of the masters
backwards
on the truest path
and look at me run
all too happy to follow...
ending up further from me
than I could have ever imagined.
Comments
one thing we have to watch is that we dont fall prey to 'it' and forget ourselves in search of something else...
What a wonderful insight, Tash...the idea that we must shed so much of the 'now' to find what it is we really are. The world's distractions are always working to pull us away from what we were meant to do. Very nice job here.
"ending up further from me
than I could have ever imagined."
trying so hard to find my way back to me.