A purely innocent thought…
A genuine concern…
A general thought on a single matter;
A simple matter
Then without realising
a micro second later,
An entire crescendo of thoughts had already been fargone;
Vanished through the cracks
The birth of a complex.
But clearly it’s too late
There’s no going back
Just more mental shoveling of debris
Onto a problem gasping relentlessly for breathing space within an already constricted crevice.
I find my quite place:
Blank lines and a pencil.
With blank lines and a pencil,
I remove the debris in layers….each line.
With each word the weight becomes lighter
And the sounds of involuntary breathing becomes increasingly audible
As I lift my pencil,
The missed sweet rhythmic thumping of blood through the heart returns
Alongside the sound of air to and from this body
Then I am reminded
To be where my feet are.