Lost and Found

I bend. I break. I feel. I fake.

I sit. I breathe. I bare. Bereaved….

…I wear my soul on my sleeve.

I learn naught from my mistakes but that I will make them again….

Once goaded by flimsy desire…

...a boyish predilection that opportunity s t r e a k s in a brazen fashion.

Chance occasion vanishes in a very selfish way, seemingly in an exercise of brash free will. How loathsome an attempt to teach a lesson, cloaked in skylight clarity but in truth with drip-some drab.

That which we cannot deduce is worthy a gaze.  What we already grasp can be inessential. Mystery, while intriguing, is best when not misguiding; elusion is not academic but haughty and unseen.

Trite is excessive though recognized.

Any arduous attempts are then capsized.

The true prize hides in disguise.

Proof comes through practice not presumption.

We walk with intention but not in unison or with obvious direction.  We scare not easily and exercise poise – we neglect transparency.

I am no longer available but am once saddled, ridden, and lost on the horizon. I know no other but a flighty companion, appreciated and accepted as given, learned from and later ostracized. Lost… and then found.

A bickering snit would not stand for any pleasantry, if only, a coy and prying moment brings to light its more human half.   And though we seek fresh water, we pollute fresh air. Breathing, so self-governed, is not affected by our sensibilities or superficialities; what we need most is what we do not have.

Our orientation is in limbo.

Clarity chokes at the threshold.

Open further to see more deeply.

Lose sight to find again under different light.

And so you stray… you reel back in...

…destitute for the purpose of growth….

The long term may suffer but the vision would ne’er been born. Step off the front stoop - take a firm step in concert and effort. Plant and arrive. The anxiety of “next” can be a sinkhole; choose to dredge along and stay encumbered. Choose to plant…. and arrive.