10-8-12

Twenty years imbalanced-
twenty years spent roaming the stillness and
bedding down in a locked room-
twenty years imbalanced-
a steaming brew boiled within those walls,
bubbling over, and staining the pot with its
drippings,
bubbles rose to the surface and exploded
into nothing-
spirits rose and fell like ocean tides,
and emotions rode those waves like daring
surfers in search of that unattainable thrill-
thoughts and hopes and dreams appeared and
dissipated like gobs of rain under a hot sun-
twenty years imbalanced-
parched and afloat, drifting along choppy seas,
surrounded by irony, and unable to take a sip-
the know how just wasn’t yet there-
so he treated himself like a book,
and became an encyclopedia-
detailed, methodical,
and yet dusty and unread,
his pages stained with longing and mystery-
he learned to read himself, word for word,
until a detailed silhouette materialized-
a volume was left open on a table one
morning,
close to an open window-
a ripe plum purple morning, threaded
with the orange mists of dawn, and streaked
with whispering winds-
winds that meandered through the window and stirred
the sediments of dust and waste-
an eager gust crept along the table and
managed to turn a page-
twenty years imbalanced-
twenty years unsteady, unguided, unheard-
twenty years locked behind silent, mirrored walls,
examining and learning the words of himself-
the opening of that window flipped a page,
just a random page-
with a new one resting calmly beside it-
a new chapter-
waiting eagerly under
the brilliance of the rising sun*

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One comment

  1. gypsy11

    Thanks for this. it feels revealing and sad, yet i felt a sense of relief and very hopeful. Twenty years is a long time, but only the beginning. It’s always darkest just before the dawn. In the words of the wise-woman teacher, Iyanla Vanzant, “do not give up 5 minutes before the miracle!”

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