There will be potholes along the journey.
Bumps along the ride.
Some of you may fall off the wagon,
some of you may die.
And it’s hard to imagine faultless
structure when you keep
hitting holes along the way,
for it strikes as counterproductive,
doing the same thing,
the same way – day after day.
But such is life, isn’t it?
We express to the creator for we are the created?
Carved in the image of a mirror showing various
reflections and tints and shades; perceptions.
it’s hard to believe that the gravity of our expressions,
grips us only when we least expect it to and we stop short of
greatness expected because we are black, not in colour,
but in mind and heart. Souls twinned with a desire to see
the potholes, and stop awhile in their depths.
Moving along and forward should be the dream.
Getting out of the rut these bumps throw us to.
Riding cautiously and ignoring the wind in the trees
for we aren’t meant to – exceed past our dreams.
So potholes become necessary. Bumps and ridges plenty.
To slow us – down. Drive, ride and walk easy.
So we can see the details around us.
Breathe in untainted oxygen and release gases harmful to brain functions.
Transparency is the key and we become one with the specifics of the cycle
of life spinning around our heads – faster, slower, intermittently. Spinning.
But now we can see it. Feel it. Stretch hand. Open eyes. Breathe it in.
Grips lungs. Asphyxiate on overload of thoughts running through veins.
Blood tales of mind storms and life spans which span tales of old to new.
Stories. That’s what potholes are. Stories of the pause – stop – start.
Rev and push through.
Be Kind and Share…