When doubt begins to wonder
and all the souls that gather around
suddenly want to splinter off,
an edgy sort of raw scrape upon our
own fragile sanity.
We might think we know,
protest the moment,
rather respond with a reaction
that only suggests we are
as fucked up as we believe ourselves.
What happens when we really cannot
our bodies, our selves
an old adage we once called a title
seems now so profound only wants
to speak to the here and now.
I remember one time,
I could clearly see the grain of a wall,
having looked so long
a blank slate of never ending worry
just across the room, just there.
Have we ever wondered why
each of us operates by our own set of rules,
despite knowing otherwise
fall on my sword
before I ever imagine something wise.
Seems a song playing on the radio
helped me know who I was,
know what pain felt like,
when a strung out heroine addict
was found dead in a seedy restroom.
Somebody cared about that moment,
they came and rescued his soul,
there was some reason to know why
yet the questions would always
far outweigh that sad reality.
Those moments when we suddenly
find our way,
when through the quiet of a morose
state of mind,
we ride the crest of that initial pain.
Those first moments we’d rather never explain.
© Thom Amundsen 2/2021