There is a whirling of color-
impressions and pulses of raw being-
- intangible -
shards that wiggle and pulse
through a cortex of subconscious
just invisible to my knowing.
I am raw.
A sieve for the experiences I can not name.
A building of thunderclaps and swells.
Give me release.
Give me not this irrational deflection
twirling definitves with misinterpretations.
Give me acute sorrow, that I can name.
Give me the source of anger so I can rage-
let the fire burn to embers
and mourn the smoke that clouded my foresight.
Give me wisdom before I repeat all my errors.
Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2018