In the worst of winter you recall a child;
A simple creature who did not rush
But digested the life; one thought with one action.
Not parsing time or pausing to weigh the worth of a task
But wholly absorbed as only one who has nothing to answer to can be absorbed.
Who asked for what was wanted without assuming the answer
Who ate only when hungry and drank from thirst not habit
In the times before moral outrage
The short window of innocence
When you constructed your dreams from nightmares;
Manifested desires in fantasy that went unchecked.
Before you were restless,
And burn -out became numbness.
Remembering what you turn to others to teach you now
Before you ran to textbooks and spiritual guides
Before you quoted others to make your point
And distractions replaced your memory with advice that crowded out the cells that knew before.
When stacking stones was holier than parent’s handclapping at your grammar school play
No one told you consciousness creates matter
But you expected that.
In the days before the whirring machine blocked the flow of your thoughts;
Your fancy created the world
Just hand from pen to paper.
You were fertile
But not yet fertilized.
Child hood ripostes were correct but you were not so clever yet.
Protected by the castle walls, you could not yet comprehend the battlefield
While chanting songs to ease the smart of other’s glances:
I Know You Are But What Am I
I’m rubber you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks back on you.
It takes one to know one.
You had the words but no comprehension to back them up.
The knowledge you had, had no words to describe.
You made no choices but time chose for you. It would not stop.
Inner guides met outer guides and plotted to keep you and those did collide at the first reckoning
But age made you sober;
For better where collusion carved awareness
And worse when you forgot yourself.