Jul 24, 2013:
An overdose of caffeine
an under of restraint
have me in bed turning, twisting
when I thought I'd be at rest.
My mind is restless, searching
but knows not what to think.
My body, hot and sweaty,
full to even water drink.
The ceiling, gradual shadows,
it dotes on my wide eyes,
who, drugged and anxious seers,
resist the silent dark.
Deep yawn surges impromptu,
reminding me of the time.
My belly answers with rumbles,
as it crumbles inner slime.
A moth explores the ceiling
defying gravity
much like the witch from Wicked,
but smaller, and here with me.
And as I scratch my scrotum
wondering my nightly fate,
I realize there is much cause
to rejoice and celebrate.
For I command a body,
powerful and unique,
which roams, feeds, breathes, lives, learns, and sees,
and can, what I choose, seek.
And as of late, it seems to have
sought farther than before,
though as of now I doubt that
it's a matter of keeping score.
For when looking backwards, I find
that one easily walks out of line
not to mention the stray of the mind
so aligned keep your sight and your way.
Look where you're going, when you do go,
but know, you need not always move.
There's journey in the stop,
like music needs silence to groove.
Do know there is much way to go,
and much beauty and wonder to see.
But above that and much other else,
There is much more you can be.
It might help to retrieve a saying
that knocks at my mind's door:
"A ship is safe at harbor, but
that's not what it's meant for".
Docked ship, look at your tight knots,
then look out to the sea,
and ask yourself what you most will:
sailing or docked ship be?
If you will sail, then set your course,
and stretch that creaky wood.
Gather your hopes, loosen your ropes,
and then just go, for good.
Despite this maritime metaphor,
which could stretch hours on end,
my eyes now bow to nighttime,
and my mody will no more pretend.
So I bid a grateful "Bis Morgen"
to my room, my context, and time.
In the realm of my mind, no turning
of a wheel mandates my design.
An overdose of caffeine
an under of restraint
have me in bed turning, twisting
when I thought I'd be at rest.
My mind is restless, searching
but knows not what to think.
My body, hot and sweaty,
full to even water drink.
The ceiling, gradual shadows,
it dotes on my wide eyes,
who, drugged and anxious seers,
resist the silent dark.
Deep yawn surges impromptu,
reminding me of the time.
My belly answers with rumbles,
as it crumbles inner slime.
A moth explores the ceiling
defying gravity
much like the witch from Wicked,
but smaller, and here with me.
And as I scratch my scrotum
wondering my nightly fate,
I realize there is much cause
to rejoice and celebrate.
For I command a body,
powerful and unique,
which roams, feeds, breathes, lives, learns, and sees,
and can, what I choose, seek.
And as of late, it seems to have
sought farther than before,
though as of now I doubt that
it's a matter of keeping score.
For when looking backwards, I find
that one easily walks out of line
not to mention the stray of the mind
so aligned keep your sight and your way.
Look where you're going, when you do go,
but know, you need not always move.
There's journey in the stop,
like music needs silence to groove.
Do know there is much way to go,
and much beauty and wonder to see.
But above that and much other else,
There is much more you can be.
It might help to retrieve a saying
that knocks at my mind's door:
"A ship is safe at harbor, but
that's not what it's meant for".
Docked ship, look at your tight knots,
then look out to the sea,
and ask yourself what you most will:
sailing or docked ship be?
If you will sail, then set your course,
and stretch that creaky wood.
Gather your hopes, loosen your ropes,
and then just go, for good.
Despite this maritime metaphor,
which could stretch hours on end,
my eyes now bow to nighttime,
and my mody will no more pretend.
So I bid a grateful "Bis Morgen"
to my room, my context, and time.
In the realm of my mind, no turning
of a wheel mandates my design.
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