I am again at the labyrinth’s entrance.
No one here forces me to enter.
No one is here. I walk alone.
Circling north, south, east, west – all directions,
No direction. Only partially my own path.
The psychiatric term for it is alexithymia –
inability to identify or describe one’s feelings.
Friends can identify as well as I,
but describing is a task for none.
A poet with no story to tell.
is not very much. Perhaps 21 grams.
Yet, it weighs heavily upon many people.
Energy that we hold within that wants –
Release? To join other souls? An end?
Feeling the connection momentarily – joy; then sorrow.
Illustration to Robert Blair’s The Grave – Soul Hovering over the Body
For any true reflection, we need stillness.
The water calms and the image clears.
The mind calms and the thoughts clear.
But we need the wind, waves, raindrops
and disturbances to know what stillness means.
By degrees, words slip into my mind
and spin into lines that make sense
in this fevered moment, but will later
read as the impassioned words of another –
madman, prophet, troubled soul, friend, lover, murderer.