MÆRE

 Sometimes we get lost.
  We travel time with a broken watch and we see the end for what it is.
An end.
    Sometimes we let ourselves leave, checking out under the terms that we'd agreed to leave.
We don't give ourselves any credit. We just push up the sheets and cover our sleepy heads.

  Sometimes there are witnesses to your exit. They may have been lost as well, but they probably don't know it.

It's the same place, you know. That places with millions of footprints not yet washed away by the wind. That place we've all stood, at a loss for words, without thought or guidance. That place where the godless and the holy can all shake hands and agree on the terms of loss. Feeling lost. Feeling.          We forget we are feeling.

 We forget that deal we made with our nervous system. That thing, many things, sending us messages from our finest slope to our most curvaceous limb.  We made a deal with it at birth.

  It gave us safe passage into the light, calloused world assuming that we would live an existence of purpose and emotion.  Is that what we are doing?

    What justice to that promise is living in a world that smothers its own mother?
 My tongue is pledged to provoke, my hands are bound to the instrument and i will live
if my life means nothing more than to make one think.
  I pray to the readers, think.
  Keep your mind moving.

take only the road that leads to love.