Writers’ Blokke
Published in

Writers’ Blokke

Lost In My Direction

a poem of sorts

Blissful thoughts, or are they thoughts that allow me to see things that aren’t really there, but in truth, are? Descriptive in the clarity with which they are revealed and the vividness of what they foretell, sometimes to push me into a corner with a need and a want to hide

Fearful in the lazy way they follow me, never far away. Letting me know that no matter where I go or what I try to do to chase them away they are there and will always be. How do you change the course of the path that’s already been set in motion?

Distinguishing that fine line of what should be thought of and comparing it to what is thought of. The resemblance of the two tainting me for a destiny that I’ve no wish to allow to occur. How to stop what’s been preordained? Or has it really been preordained? Perhaps my imagination in over-drive?

Delinquent in passages and unable to take a step and break free of this tight grip that takes perverse pleasure in maintaining my stability. Oft times giving me pause to wonder if perhaps I’ve not lost what little amount of grounding I had been able to achieve.

Hearing whispers in the night and watching the shadows dance and play, cringing away from them while they creep closer and closer. Wiggling inside my head and touching me where I alone dwell from a reality that is borderline on fantasy.

Or is it that I am being tested with the forces of energies that encompass my entire being and let slip bits and pieces of that I hold onto for dear life? How to tell what is and isn’t? Eyes are wide open with a fear that I’ve never experienced before and shaking with the onslaught of emotions never before felt.

Clinging to a fine thread of last hope that seems to unravel with each breath gasped. Becoming a sacrifice in a sea of so many others, lost in the reflections that cast indifferent glances and slight smiles that hold no warmth.

Reaching out to something and finding nothing for me to grasp. Who’s going to wear the crown when all is said and done and the very soul of which I thought was mine becomes transparent?

Who’s going to be my savior now that I’ve learned to believe? Words become faint whisperings holding hidden meanings that are difficult to define in the tumultuous storm that arises. How can I go my own way and seek what I need when I stand here alone?

Too many questions I believe. Yet I know too, that the answers sought aren’t too far away. It is just a matter of synchronizing the mind and allowing those blissful thoughts free reign which will enable me to see what is needed.

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Shelly

Shelly

One day at a time and sharing my experiences.