Saturday, March 13, 2010

A Forehead Pressed Against the Window

Content in always questioning
naive to some;
intelligent,
balanced to others.
Following a trail to enlightenment-
wandering off of the worn path;
searching for fancy-
a glint in an abandoned garden
a glimmer in a river's sandy bed.

Perspectives never intertwine
in the ways you expect-
never in the ways you want.
Desiring others not to ask too much of;
wanting the freedom to make mistakes
craving tears to come when you're all alone
heavy emotion only mattering to yourself.

Why is it that you can't sit
silently staring off by a glass pond
careful not to disturb its flesh with heavy breath
without others questioning motive?

They want chaos-
desiring turmoil for peace of mind

there is no sensation
there is no intrigue
there is only what your mind desires

Desiring silence,
stepping into the glass pond
sending out silent,
momentary ripples of presence
then floating in small,
slow circles.

There are heavy currents below
let them take you where they may
I will glide by with you
our eyes might meet
but we will not speak.

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