Cataracts
hobble- but won’t blind
atrophied eyes that see
never suffer enough to stop looking
guided by shadows and stubbornness
vindicated by the rising sun.
In that maze of coherency
success looks like an ending with no beginning
harsh edges dulled by confidence
affirmation is all that remains
regard that I can see enough to know I once saw better
despite this
the result is the same
the sun always setting.
The hand raised high
is hung on the hook
of a distant light;
digits cradling an unseen flower
while shadows collect – condensation,
beaded below
lengthy limbs
dropping into a river of darkness
that ends hidden
beneath
sheer cloth.
Farther down
slender legs – rushing waterfalls
against the floor
frozen in time;
where the toes plunge
the heel and the arch
splash
playfully above.
Though the music has stopped
the moment remains poised for the future
until then,
we wait.
Young dreams will the soul inspire;
all the insides set to fire
tied to hopes by length of wire
leading us through years most dire
to be enough to admire
through the glow of our desire.
Thus breaks the mold of our birth
at last of worth, we retire.
When I was
…this tall
the world was exciting
a cosmos of
wonder
and potential
Not the void we know now.
At first,
I knew nothing…
but then
then I was adrift in everything
I wanted to BE
everything.
I could hardly function with all that was going on
but I persisted
Experimenting
Reaching out and grabbing at…
Until somewhere out there
calling out to me through the possibilities
I heard a jarring word,
“Don’t”
And I didn’t, because what did I know?
nothing.
And this was everything, right?
So, when I heard don’t
I didn’t.
And the world got a little bit smaller
a little quieter
a little dimmer.
But I could see more clearly.
Here there were “dos”
And over there were the “don’ts”
And between the two no roads shall meet.
When I was
…this tall
I was given a small page,
to jot it down
map it out
define this space I found myself in,
There had become so many don’ts that the task became like working in negative space,
snatching out the do’s from the soup of don’ts,
and now I had enough understanding to find them on my own
I thought anyway
Until I shared that page with others
proud of all the things I would do,
my ability to navigate the sea of don’ts
And was told, again, “no
Don’t”
When my do’s would not line up with their expectations,
they became a whole new kind of don’ts.
shouldn’ts I called them.
Irresponsible, you may have heard them called.
not productive.
And so the world became a little bit smaller
a little quieter
a little dimmer.
Now that I am
…this tall,
I have progress reports,
project plans
financial projections,
Ways of tracking do’s but
not ever truly acknowledging them,
a piling on of do’s into a stack I have no choice but to call
“will do’s”
I still hear that voice
calling out to me from that growing void:
“No,
don’t,
not yet.”
But more and more it is starting to sound like my own,
indiscernible even.
The world is small,
quiet and dim,
adrift in the cosmos
mostly empty space.
A tree standing tall
isolated on a mountain top
moves and is moved by a world unseen
but tangible
as it always has been
You can sense the years between
time refined as it passes by
more clearly defined
while still anchored in history
The rocks beneath
broken and
bound
in roots that are fed from all around
embraced tightly
by what fruits they’ve found
always hungry.
When wind rises
against brittle limbs
the tree will cast off what has died
make room for stronger branches
to reside
Now, as the cold bares down,
it reminds us of change
in hues of fire
that slowly fall to embers
left against the world
naked,
waiting for warmer days.
Grow Gray With Me 