A blackbird soars, circling my tragedy⁣⁣
Amorphous thoughts form in my mind⁣⁣⁣⁣
I dare not brave its end ⁣⁣
Nor even stand amidst its trance ⁣⁣
to not be lost again⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣
To be lost is to no longer be grounded⁣⁣⁣⁣
It is not flying in the infinite sky⁣⁣⁣⁣
It is a hopeless free fall ⁣⁣
for a hopeful divine intervention⁣⁣⁣⁣
It is a leap of cowardice to walk the path⁣⁣⁣⁣
It is a leap where faith itself is lost⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣
In this strange town where progress taints all⁣⁣⁣⁣
I am enamoured by our strange mind, our strange sighs⁣⁣⁣⁣
And the nameless trees, the perfect soil⁣⁣ ⁣⁣
not resisting or persisting, as they remain⁣⁣
as they are, as they were, not trying to be, not trying to become⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣
All the lessons there for the taking⁣⁣
Yet the phantom enlightening moment is not conscious⁣⁣
The artificiality of the town reminds me of how far⁣⁣⁣⁣
we have walked inside the thought of progress and productivity⁣⁣⁣⁣
that it is strange (almost evil) to stay still⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣
My inadequacy crashes into me, I sit still⁣⁣
in the moment for once⁣⁣⁣⁣
The truth within the lies, I live⁣⁣⁣⁣
through witnessing the implosion of ⁣⁣
who I have become⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣
All the stories I entertain myself with⁣⁣⁣⁣
a sordid distance away, and I feel free⁣⁣⁣⁣
to forget another name⁣⁣⁣⁣
as labels break away⁣⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣⁣
Loneliness adorns the crown of solitude⁣⁣⁣⁣
Tears wash away all the rain in my cloudy mind⁣⁣⁣⁣
My body wears the fibre of my soul⁣⁣⁣⁣
As the blackbird finds its perch, I listen⁣⁣
Tunes it learned, they now echo through my core⁣⁣
And from zero, I dare⁣
I dare to learn once more

—

Art by Ted Nasmith