The Sweet Sensitivity
In strife we see life as a catastrophe waiting to happen
Days pour upon us like memories.
A silent obituary to things we wanted,
Memories haunt us of things we wanted to see, do, feel,
While we maintain, stuck in our insecurities.
Watching the days roll by while we train our thoughts,
What is real in this mess?
I pause,
Reflect on the moment.
What is upon me?
I have wandered for days with no water, no food.
Nothing to shelter me but blankets and my dog, part coyote.
A pure spirit sent from heaven to guide me through my torment.
Why am I here?
What is the purpose?
Other than a mystical sense to pursue a forgotten remembrance
The essence of my soul
It’s somewhere near me
Buried in memories
Forgetfulness contains my passion driving me forward
Numbing my inner inhibitions in the satisfaction
Remembering the days…
Numbing cold whips my face as I sit up
There is nothing but a field of ashy cinders as far as I can see
The night has forgotten my existence
And has shielded me from disruption.
For the first time in as long as I can remember I feel freer.
Not free, but freer than I have ever been
I feel like running, jumping,
playing underneath the junipers
Singing and moving forward
Forward