Thursday, December 24, 2015

Peace of Your Heart



I did back-flips last month;
try as I might I could not spill
or fall
or hurt...
only fly briefly around
and land,
and do it again,
and over, and again, laughing
looking up...

Now, with Christmas so soon
I walked down 
emptied streets
slumping through the rain,
in december.

Past the back ways and tracks,
through the old clapboard 
shack o' the woods,
into the butterfly garden,
the porch,
looking in at the old bar
and dust on the tables
with memories scrawled
and scribbled and faded over
in lamentation,
and joy for gifted days,
and hope for better ones yet...
Looked down at the dance floor
and at the missing tiles;
and looked back up at the
duct-taped bar stools.
Some of the pictures
have been stolen,
but new ones
are as easy
to find
as paper blowing on the wind.

And then I knew it as sure as I
know
the dance of the secret-hunter.
As sure as I know sunsets
and star-sets.
As sure as your hands are.
Knowing that even if I can't
find it within me,
(just not right now...)
I can borrow a little any time
and you'll be fine with that.

In my notes, I write off the pain
and file it under "experience".

At least I'm still trying.

Thinking about next month:

Back-flips.



~

3 comments:

eric1313 said...

OK! I call off the edit brigade. It's good and took less than half an hour to write. Smooth and natural, the way it should be.

Clink! To you, my friend. You know who you are, and that's a good thing.

Shimmerrings said...

I was there...I saw the butterflies...saw the duct taped bar stools, and the dance floor with missing tiles...and I saw you standing there, observing it all...and remembered when you danced...and danced...and danced...and danced until you could dance no more...when the dance floor was all clear and everyone had gone home, wandering out into the night, you took majestic flight...how beautiful your wings, reflecting the Light of the Sun...

eric1313 said...

On this fine day before Christmas. As the year winds its way to a new beginning.