Am I obsessed, or am I tired
Can I talk of nothing more
Than what I see, or imagine
The dust motes do not seem
To share this confusion
Seemingly happy
To float
Wherever the light
And the thermals take them
Neither any problems, apparently
For the rainbow-like reflections
On the ceiling
Which emanate
From the crystals
Hanging in the window
Outside
The early morning grass
Is frozen; yet the sun
Which is now rising
May soften the crunch
Of those later footsteps
I had no need
Other than to walk
Or to write
To reinvigorate
My mind, my body
Even might I say my soul
Yet, in that moment
A cloud covered the sun
The light wavered
I waited, not for too too long
For soon, joy upon joy
The brightness returned
I saw my own joy
I heard my own laughter
I was with friends
They helped to make me
I was my self
I was my awareness
In a mind
Which was relieved and thankful
I may be there again
Another time, another place
A not dissimilar mind
Necessary to function
I have the two lives
Three if I count my own
For sure I will survive
Over the years
Have I not been robust
Even when at the limits
I have pushed on
Regrouped
As we all have
No special praise is sought
Yet still I remain firm
There is no great creator
Although it is hard to imagine
The amazing intricacies
Which make me the man I am
It was a gift
And for sure
The givers knew
That it would bring me pleasure
What they didn’t know
And neither did I realise
That by close reading
Then using for inspiration
That I would be released
Freed to write in a new way
Making many past and present connections
Both from near home, and also from, yes, from so so far away
