Careful whisper

Do we believe what we say when we whisper to ourselves?
Walking with our head down, eyes intent on an unknown prize,
Being our own best counselor although the intended audience may never hear this voice.
This place has made us all psychotic enough to believe its normal,
But the grit in our souls fights it.
We fight it with breath, with words,
And sometimes in a 24 hour laundromat with our fists at three in the morning.
Where are we headed? This comfort we seek in which everything troubling goes away, and joy overflows, and things just work, and some things don’t have to be said, is illusory. My appointment with destiny is overdue, and I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m anxious, but I’m pretty close to troubled, and pretty far from okay. Be still enough to hear the voice, even if it is just your own.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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