(Photo Credit: Isabell Kamp‘s painting A Secret is a Trap (Oil, Acrylic, Fabric, Yarn, Paint
50 x 70 cm). You can visit her website here, http://www.isabellkamp.de )
The lines of a mind aren’t written in rhyme.
They stagger and stretch and bide their time
‘Til the day they make their way to drop into light from deeper night inside.
Insight can’t stick to the walls of my brain,
Insane with round and round and round
Like a merry-go-round, grounded.
Rounding out “abouts” and doubt with flares of
Insignificant thought bursting into flames of fear and where do I go
To both a tear and a smile
All the while
Hiding in go seek and find
Or sit and stay the day away with idle nothingness and
What ifs. . .
What if yes and what is not?
What if the what if’s I got are dreams splayed in two
Caught between memories of what I thought I’d be and what
Stands before you-
Which me will I be if the what if’s write my history?
Do I stand in the shadow and wait for someone else to give me a pen or
My hand and hold the quill and quell the inability
To go to the west the south the north the east
The beasts waiting to devour make me cower
And cover my head
Stay in bed
Pound my hand into my fist and
Wait like a tick with no tock stuck in the middle of two
Not wanting to
Exploit my God-given purpose with a bowing to fear
Giving over the sheer strength of my will to move.
Which me will I be?
Which side will I see?
When I unstick what was stuck
Like a steak in my dreams
To be who God called, is calling, has made me to be?
Who the son set free is free, indeed.
The sun will no longer set in the besetting sin of worry and doubt
A panic without danger
A depression without death or tragedy or loss
A sadness with no reason to be sad
Saddened by the time I’ve wasted
Called to glory
No more hesitating
Time to be me,
A car with a spoiler
A train on a schedule
A plane with a pilot awake at the controls
Controlling the weight inside and
Breaking the sound barrier
–© Jill Szoo Wilson