To Heed or Ignore

I have to steal time to write, to think, to feel.
If I am not careful I begin to feel like a
disembodied eye floating in the head of an automaton,
a hermetically sealed lumbering tower of selfishness.

Writing is a way to ground myself in the reality
of my connectedness to the world around me,
to sense the overlapping rings of water from
raindrops hitting a river that winds through my days.

It is harder to bullshit my way through the day
when I have to organize my thoughts, sharpen my vision,
and lay a line of words like bricks and mortar.
What am I building? A bridge? A dam? (a wall?)

The scarcity of time forces me to focus on what is most
essential for me to live and for others to be able to live with me.
The pen is a sword cleaving inner demons and freeing the heart
from constricting scars and cobwebs, but it is up to me

to heed or ignore.


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