A Poem

Morning

I sat at the base of the tree
Grasping my book tight
My fingers gripping the pen as words furiously took shape
I poured my heart unto the pages
Like climbing into them
Like being one with the fibers of the papers
Overflowing

In a moment the wind gusts
And my pages explode into the air
Each one catching it’s own current
Like a parasail aloft
Like a kite swelled and dancing among the clouds
Soaring

But these pages were my story
And this was not how it unfolded
I leapt to retrieve them
Dashing and thrashing
Arms wailing in the air to snatch the loose pages from flight
Like desperation in the ring
Like panic embodied and hands hopelessly grasping
Reeling

Tears flood my eyes as the pages vanish from sight
Carried away to join someone else’s story
Because what remained in my hands was what was left of mine
Like a disordered novel
Like unintended consequences
Fleeing

I dropped to my knees
With the fragments of my carefully planned life
Shifting between my fingers
It was not how I had written it
The story had been derailed
It’s order dismantled
Like a deconstructed novel
Like a puzzle inadvertently kicked
Waiting

And a whisper swirls into my ear and tells me,
This is your life
Shake hands with the unknown darkness
And welcome with joy the known light
Like meeting a new friend
Like starting a new adventure
Smiling

I grip the loose tattered remnants
And pulled them close to my heart
My hands still gripping
But perhaps less tightly
Like a new chapter unfurling
Like a corner being turned
Awakening

–jbs

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