Robert Louis Stevenson - childhood revisited

I need no mirror to scout it out,
I'm beginning to think
Now,
I know myself more than yesterday,
And the day before.

I have a little shadow,
A little dark patch on my heart,
I can see it whether I look or not
'Tis felt
Within and without.

I try to pinch it hard, between my fingers
I try to snuff it out,
I've left it to fester too long,
I let it grow and spread all about.

The dark patch,
Oh so clever it is,
It knows its ways around my heart,
It knows me better than I know me,
It cons her again and again, 
So 'tis its art.

Erasing, no, it works not a bit,
Frantic, frenzy, it stays put.
This little shadow, this little me,
Disown it? I know not how.

To burn, cherish light and fire,
Set ablaze corridors of wealth,
Scrimp the scrimpers, toggle the hate,
Gear to gentleness,
Let goodness be might;
Watch, watch how it trembles itself
Out of existence.


Linked to Carry On Tuesday - 'I have a little shadow'

Express.

Hold breath, let words flow
Into days of memories;
Life's like poetry.


Linked to Carry On Tuesday - 'Life's like poetry'

Now

It seems like things start moving too fast, and that erratic motion is causing objects to drift further and further apart. Crashing into each other, then drifting apart.  You cannot tie threads and loop their ends around your fingers like you used to as a child; they won't hold anymore. Such bonds are no longer held. Jerky movements are what define your moods, and burrowing into the warmth of a bed to feel some shred of comfort. You burrow. Waking and sleeping are indistinguishable. Such restlessness: your mind is not at peace. Thoughts are swirly and hard and dispersed. Thoughts battle it out, axes uplifted, war cries aloud. How do you keep the rest calm when on top there's fire and lightning? Twist fingers, bite lips, and your stomach will never seem to unclench. Deep breaths, all will be well. Rinse, lather, repeat.

The deep of the sleep

There are certain states of the human mind that can be both amusing and alarming in the way they function. For instance, a brain afflicted by fever will pour itself into delirium, and speak the speak of deliriousness. Strange words will be uttered when the mind prods the tongue, and the tongue may become loosened and function on its own constantly, having broken contact with its controller, the brain. Vocabulary and words normally not used may be heard floating around after having come out of the mouth of the delirious. Another such state is when one is so incredibly ready to be submerged under the coverings of one's bed. Such sleepiness may or may not be the product (no, the cause) of what is being tip-tapped off a keyboard at this very moment. Admission can be dangerous. There will be entire strings of words expressed with the eloquence of a half-wit and sentences that are just left in the middle without being

Gajray

Bittersweet, to see them go,
Once fresh, once dew-laden,
Still alive with life,
Adorning wrists, to symbolize happiness,
Beauty, and happiness,
Flowing circular, love and friend.

Half for a Whole.

The grills, they keep me locked in;
Security for those on the outside.
Do they fear my insanity?
They must have none of it themselves,
Well-nurtured, TLC-surfeit?
Extensively though you guard your heart,
You harden and yet soften
At the same time.
They will try, try, try,
Delving, searching, prodding your defenses,

And hoping none make claims.

Do they fear my insanity?
They must, surely, they must have none of it themselves.
Tiring, to find a pair;
Two minus one = present and future?

--

Linked to Sunday Scribblings.
Prompt: search

Extremes

Sometimes things are so pleasurable that you can hardly keep your feet on the ground or stop yourself from bursting. Such happiness and hyperness.
And at other times...despair. Naked, heavy, dragging down despair.

Why?