waiting to blow

Cold hard pitted concrete face,
Stretching, ground-up, from base
To horizon-busting lip, still just me
Standing still, running a hundred
Miles an hour, if not stressworkplay
Then exercisewritetalkthinkseebe
When along comes famly, my
Big sis, to come pick me up, help
Me clean, straighten, organise
Re-arrange, until the peace settles
Down over my shoulders, the
Grand stone facade cracks and I
Have to go run and hide, find some
Space to cry, because the damn is
Busting.

Tears hot and heavy, empty me of
Dread held tight, empty space
Filled with my very own inter-
Stellar dark matter, no more real
To me than the dark matter that
Holds the galaxies together and
Just as cold, to me this is the first
A time to realise that constant
Runningmovingdoingthinkingactive
Being is not any more healthy than
Stopping stock still forever more,
Then again I crack.

The impenatrable ferrous concrete
Of my own internal damn cracks,
No explosion, just a gentle rupture,
Until the waterworks come,
Reminding me that I am all too
Human, no more or less strong
Than any other.

Why cry? Don’t ask me, for
I could not tell you. All I learn is
That sometimes you have to stop
Be still, let someone else take
Over, to realise you are running
Straight into the ground. Take a
Step back, breathe, let go, for
Any semblance of control over our
Own lives is only the illusion of
Control, for in reality we are nothing
More than feeling pin-balls, bouncing
From one precarious noisy post
To another, forever hopingwishingpraying to
Receive some kind of sign
That this will be the last bounce,
Bump, grind, ringing bells in our
Ears and knocking us sideways into
Another dimension of confusion.

Are we really who we think we are?
Would it make any difference?

Still we bang on,
In our own personal way, chasing
That illusive ‘happy’ place, each
To our own, still bouncing from
Pillar to post, unsure of the latest
As we were of the first, that promised
‘Ease-up’ of pressureworklife never
Appearing, instead pressure ramps
Up, the pedal slips down ever closer
To the floor, one more step to our
Grave, the only end we will all
Ever share, still none the wiser.

Yet if we stop, let go, sit still,
Even for one moment, we may see
That life is not one long mad rush
Towards the inevitable crowning
Glory, the final rest, but a journey
Onwards deeper into our own
Personal road, our chosen path,
Until we know just who we are,
And hopefully, if we’re lucky,
Why.

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