Things that never come back

brush
Context to the poem is at the end.

Here is my stream of mind.

Trust your gut they said
I agree, obey it
But only when  your compass is calibrated.

Not when;
Pressed skin blade,
Puncture needle,
Thick swallow,
Tight and taught,
Rope tricks.
Air is less dense up here,
So thin it washes, soft cycle tumble,
Un-soils fear like suds of inhalation,
Dancing about in Aladdin envy,
Take a breath, no take two….
Your compass failed you.

Your gut can be wrong when inside is unclean, unclear.
Why would you take the advice of a person who atrophied under the weight?
Who tempted fate,
Found themselves at failures gate?
Who tried to seal a deal with too late?
I’m no addict, I’m not suicidal, I’m not a junkie,
But my insides are not cloudy,
I can see don’t listen to fancy prattles, trust me.

It makes no sense to listen to reformed addicts,
Suicide survivors, forty dayers…
When you’re trying not to do the very thing they did.
They just make fancy what isn’t.

The mind makes pretty,
The way it wants,
It will ignore the ugly,
And off to glamour flaunt,
Make you think you can escape,
Through answering wants.
Listen to those who found ways to stop,
To say no, not like it was pop culture lippy,
But because down and gritty,
That was the fibre of their make up,
They’re the strong ones,
The ones who’s bones you want to kiss.

Because like the wind, some things will never come back.
-W.E.

I’m part of a daily prompt group for poetry. Today’s prompt was for whatever you’re listening to on the radio when you switch it on.
I don’t listen to the radio but at 430am this was what I woke up to and not long after read what the prompt was. I enjoy early morning streams of consciousness.

I began writing a whole part of it, then had a conversation with a person I really admire on social media regarding one of her poems she wrote which was emotionally engrossing. Her communication alone is poetic and like a muse her conversation furthered streams of consciousness which added to this prompt.

The song I was listening to was a Persian one. When I want to get into the mood, I usually play Sufi style spiritual music in a long play list. Most of my writing comes immediately when I wake up. At the point I woke up it was Salar Aghili’s version of Yad Bad. How perfect.

I’m not Persian so had to research the meaning of the song. Very vaguely, the part  I woke up to was referring to the wind not remembering us, a  never returning wind. (Persian ladies and gents, feel free to correct me)

If you want to listen to the longer version it is here:

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