Ah. Must have drifted off for a bit, there. . .
Bear with me, I'm coming out of it now. . .
Just let me wipe the sleep dust from my eyes. . .
Where was I? Ah, yes. Now I remember. . .
Running and passing, running and passing,
Passing through life, running through the rhythm.
Objects in motion will stay in motion,
It's the stops. The stops set you back the most.
And at the end of a long, hectic day,
I crawled into the warm comfort of bed
And suddenly realized, to my dismay,
A forgotten task, undone, still remained.
Grumbling, I dragged myself back outside
And thought, "OK. The quicker I do this,
The sooner I can get back into bed."
Comfort. It's ever fleeting, isn't it?
When you catch hold, hang on tight as you can,
Like the first rider to a bucking bronc,
Thrashing, fresh out the chute, wild as all youth.
In trying to write each small bit of text,
I think that I'm inching ever closer
To the exact feelings and sentiments
That exist in my deepest, inner self.
Keep listening; you'll know what I mean soon.
A Rainbow Trout circles around his bait,
Lunges furtively, and gets himself hooked.
In an instant before being reeled in,
The fish dances desparately with Fate.
"Oh well," he exclaims, "I had a good run."
When I found myself out wayward roaming,
A wild gust of Winter blasted my face.
I winced and muttered, "Ah, what bitter winds!"
Headstrong and squinting, I pitted myself
Against the waves of piercing, frigid cold.
Keep on; I'll reach my destination soon.
Everything; each facet of each nuance,
Each notion of each part of everything.
Just for a minute, let it all unfold.
Open your grasp and take a deep, slow breath.
Concentrate only on the beat of life.
That can get you through the really tough spots.
© 2009 Jubal Faircloth