Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

what I stem from in view
the too small pot with too little soil
yet, I appear whole, to have grown

placed between things to balance
my God, it works to provide support
the moments of perfection, so brief!

I must hold my breath, linger 
~ the fear and knowledge of self
overwhelms, terrifies, confuses...

I know, you know, that I'll stop looking pretty 
everything about me will fall to the floor
I'll shrink back until I bloom again

I can't change a damned thing!
cycles of adoration
out-of-sight contempt 
seemingly fully owned, accepted by me

I feel for those that share my space 
incidentally by my side 
I should not sob out this earth's despair
we could all ensemble so nicely 
if I'm just quiet
accept

what survives alone
is a start and end date
fixed to a spot
tethered to knowing
all of before, during and after 
until hidden again beneath the ground
perhaps to rot, perhaps to strive again
within the same 'just enough' confines
satisfied somehow
to look pretty for a moment
that I grew, no matter, that I managed it

for stark awareness 
to shake my lack of foundation 
as the darkened room envelopes me

futility: the reality of our composition 

I'm already forgetting
with nothing to grasp, to hold onto
fleeting revelation 

déjà vu and nyctinasty
sleep and waking
realisation and amnesia 
death and life and waiting
always quietly waiting 
for it to make sense

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