Oh the thought,
of being twice inside myself,
unrecognisable to my eye’s eye,
so alone I can’t ever know anything but the depth of a pale stare,
of everything that was the colour blue,
turned to a blank whisper of semblance.
amongst the perishables,
a recanting syncopation of heart pulse,
and counting litanies on phalanges,
in that epiphany of knowing,
that the decorative’s of this world are non existent,
the simplest of pleasures,
be it the breath of an infant,
or a ground coffee bean,
as you reconcile with your innateness,
that is, to deny being source-less,
and lose the amnesia you had,
clear the fog of being mad,
that your endless chase to be seen,
stopped you from seeing what deserved to be seen,
and being madly instead.
What bounty He might be,
if I only took my allotted place as I should,
forge my soul with fire, hammer and fire,
until the mere mention of it cuts me down.
They lied to you,
learning how to think slowly,
is the most profound thing you can do.
If this is default,
ignore the urge of society trying to change you.
There is only loss in between,
obscurity and events unseen,
when your focus is so blurred,
and speed is what you fiend.
Instead, slow your breath,
and take three more between them,
learn the art of slowing down time too,
so you comprehend events in micro-chasms,
so the movements of anything coming your way are intercept-able at will.
This includes your own thoughts firing at you,
your ego commanding incessantly,
your limbs going places they shouldn’t.
When you can slow it all down,
inversely, your speed will be imperceptible.
No one will believe in your cause,
the agenda will always surface to the top.
Instead of people empathising with you,
standing alongside you,
even if in disagreement with you,
they’ll see through your need for attention,
and treat you accordingly.
And how do we treat,
the most common seekers of attention,
that is, children?
Like they’re incapable
How ironic then,
that you act so childishly,
yet expect to be treated like a capable adult.
The most noble aspiration, is to serve.
You do realise, I’m at my most selfless,
when I am alone,
there, my servitude is exemplary.
I’m untouchable in my outward expression,
insofar you allow me to cave inside,
I’ll repay humanity what I owe it,
left to my cocoon,
watch me bloom,
watch me soon,
I’ll come with an array of colour and magnificent flutter,
please allow me the room.
It comes in throes,
it reaps before it sows,
irrespective of season,
uncaring for reason,
pulling at the clutches of your existence,
it reminds you,
loneliness is all you know.
try your hand at social contracts,
and the social ever contracts,
until the squeeze makes you feel,
like you don’t feel at all.
I am fluent in alone,
the language of solitude; a poetic sage,
translating all this quiet,
is so habitual,
and I oblige with tattooed fingers,
and let you have me on a page.
The pull to be pulled away,
the attraction to exile,
I’m not awkward around you,
it’s just the repulsion of my self,
outweighs my need to be with you.