Flowing

Have you ever felt constricted?
For I am almost certain a lock
has furnaced it's mouth somewhere,
and the key is not anything able
to be spoken.

Life is written in weakening,
in wakening, and in praise.

I am finished with only caring for sad songs
that I must search for alone, like a raven
one reads about in whispered poetry.

Have you ever felt harmonies?
For I have been putting my clock
to bed thinking it will help me move.
But I must release without thought.

There is inspiration, and how it flows
when you are tacked at the end of a
predestined hello- legs crossed, heart
latticed, intricacies becoming the way.

There is blood finding you again
when all seems numb, and words are
trapped in over-analyzed thinking.

Your existence, how it flows.

*written November 22, 2012 at 1:56 pm.