In the grinder (growth stage) room
unrested but still on the pulse and breath
my uneven face stares beyond the vanishing point
my amygdala overworked in an unrequited sweatshop way
sounds of random degrees
big boil messes on ruptured lands
longing for England’s greenest fields
yet turning your back on it’s rotting core
but this begs the question;
has it changed or have I changed?
has the light inside of me gone bankrupt?
in the most dense of doubt I pull the plug out of my brain until tomorrow
a new day;
always a gamble
yet on a new day
love can be king again
sometimes my imagination and sense of wonder are all I have
yet when the wolves of this mental arena are singing
I feel like nothing can stand in my way
sharp blinding sparks dart
in the middle form show
as the next stem grows
and poison paths trick
life’s complexities hum
yet why cry?
if adventure is your calling?
A broken note ripples
as others slide and burn out
my eyes fall on the final act
before the curtains close all systems;
of varying degrees of harmony
the temptation to run explodes
but why am I running?
what and whom am I running from?
who am I?
I crawl the floor
fragments of my broken cup surround me
I don’t have the strength to mend it
as I drift into the white
and sleep til kingdom come
A torn burnt sky appears
the beat of life goes on
then the sun blesses other corners
dogs keep barking
low clouds hold on
my grass a modest hue of green
yet this side is very gentle
I smile and wish the best for all
my body and mind 500 stations from the haywain
by Nicholas Peart
21st January 2016
(All rights reserved)
Image: Water Lily Pond (after Monet) (2014) by Nicholas Peart
Location: Nieuw Amsterdam, Surinam