I should be…

I know I should be asleep at two-twenty-four, yet where I came from doesn’t match the time frame of where I am, and where I am does not match the time frame of where I am headed.  I hope.  The idea of heading to a place that is outside of space and time, where rhyme is spoken and sung, and words are flung through the air with great care, but no hate, and we can wait forever and a day regardless of the way one walks or another may say what he or she has to say.

I know I should be asleep at two-twenty-nine, but the shivers up my spine are beyond benign, without being malignant, they are ecstatically indignant, and I stop to think that right now someone, somewhere is just waking up and making up their excuse already as to why they are going to have a bad day.  Thoughts become things and the heart that is hard today wants to sing, but it is afraid to be booed off the stage again, and be filled with rage again.  The anger comes from a wound that was once love.The hardness comes from the formulation of a protective outer layer that wants to tear itself down and be open to the wind blowing.

I know I should be asleep at two-thirty-five, but I am alive and well, and safe and sound.  My plane touched down on the ground without incident, and a hidden hint I whispered that’s a bit irrelevant still echoes in my ear.  I may fear things that don’t leap to mind right now, but I don’t feel as though I fear anything or anyone at the moment.  I find rest in the inspired spark, a flicker in the dark, a timely remark, and the thin layer of air between the trunk and the bark that can’t feel the bite of the cold air.  I care, and I am sorry that I care, but I do.  I remain cold on the outside, and inside I am a well of emotion and conversations that have been forgotten by others whose mothers never knew the impact they had. 

I am saving the best for last, hoping I don’t run out of gas on the overpass, or at work, or in class.  I believe that it can be done differently by a handful of brave souls who dare to stick their necks out for the sake of love.

About SIDEWAYS EIGHT

Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s