In the Middle
In the Middle
I feel pulled upon
these days
by forces inside and out.
The directions I'm pulled in,
the way that they pull,
the choices I feel
I'm not making myself.
Old habits, new patterns,
new life in old forms:
process and project.
Sometimes a hint of narcolepsy
catches my eyelids,
gravity waxing.
Others I rise up with fire in my eyes
with a plan and with a passion,
the very force of creation
surging in me.
One foot,
another,
in a line,
walking,
forward...
first today,
then tomorrow.
In the middle,
I rest.
Sunday, 26 July 2020
This is the fifth poem in Les Mots sans Images, a series of original poems.
I post a new poem every waning quarter moon.