Tuesday, 9 January 2018

When the Crankies Come to Call

When the crankies come to call
even a smiling hello can set my teeth on edge
as thoughts screech on an undefined ledge.

It's as if the flow is stopped
bunged up and shallowed
with a nasty grimed mop;
grievences left to simmer too long
indignant with all sorts of imagined wrong.

To rid the gunk and the goo
i need remember to slow down
and walk gentler, not to stir
or raise a cloudier cloud of dust;
to breathe deeper the clearing surface
past the layered and lingering must.

Stretch into the corners webbed and strung
what matters isn't what can or need be done.
The temporal temple of me is in constant flux,
just when i think the building is nearing complete
another learn comes switching at my ankles and feet.

For here i will stop and stand
feeling the breeze of each command.
Bruised and tender might raise the welts,
yet there is a lighter reveal
of a grateful wound, a greater heal.

To set the bar of a new leveling field,
often the best and most obvious care
is the gentle redirecting relax of a simple nap.
From dreams there are distant whispers
that i won't quite recall,
but somewhere in sleeping
truth will soothe my soul's weeping.

For the sun shines forever in me
radiating even when i can't see
and that, my friends, is what
encourages a more compassionate be.


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