by stu pidasso
Weaving back and forth,
running wild with delight,
my eyes are flighty as dove
on a crisp winter night.
Swirling in a cerebral tornado,
my thoughts tumble
over and over each other,
like playful puppies wrestling.
The blender whirs noisily.
Hurt. Sad. Angry. Confused.
Aghast. Perplexed. Slightly amused.
My emotions lay entwined
like a pile of pick up sticks.
Even when I strive my hardest
to not offend, but to mend,
it seems that my actions always wound.
Carefully, my words, I choose;
trying to prevent a bruise
to any ego I might touch.
Try, try again, even when I win...I lose.
But then, I speak in such a rash,
and any hope of connection I dash,
and having failed at communicating;
only myself, I am left to bash.
It is futile, most days I think
to try to find some common link
with anyone out there who may feel
as I do from day to day.
What a way.....what a way.
I know that I am a good man.
I feel it in my heart and soul.
I love my children. I love my mother.
I love my sister and all my brothers.
I even love the other daughter,
and the one who my heart slaughters,
leaving but a lump of coal.
I miss my wife and my father.
I love myself and my life
and pray to God for a new wife.
But it seems that no matter
where I walk, run or crawl;
whether I do or I don't,
whether I will or I won't,
shall be my only companion.
Heavy is the head who wears this crown
and I feel it dragging me down....
to the bottom of my pit.
I read all your words,
a hear the little birds,
even the wind whispers
sweet nothings to me
in the darkness of my struggle.
Try. Try. Try.
these wings will fly.
Patience, for you will win.....again.