Reconstruction

They have put crude tools in front of me,
and asked me to make something of myself.

And as I stare at them in wonder,
I am stuck by the horror
that they are all thriving,
happy and beautiful.
That by some turn of the wrench,
or by dint of the hammer,
they have become new and improved?
How is it they expect me to know
what they have done, and why
would I want to do it?
But they all say I am overreacting,
that I am too sensitive.
All the same, I am myself.

But there is something in me that
knows what I must do, with
what instrument, and I am
ashamed that I have not done it sooner.

Boat

Seeing the rocks among the waves,
the dark angry shapes framed by foamy white,
I raised the anchor, and detached from
the world, and let the greater forces
guide me to safety.

Even so, that which drifts is not free.
By current, tide, and wind
the boat is barred and imprisoned.
Though rocked, tossed, and thrown
I remained unmoved.

Days and days upon the sea starved me
and drained me. Seeing that I was too weak,
and too weary, I detached from my body,
and let the greater forces guide me.

But then there was the rock, the wind, and
the water, waiting for me, wondering what
had become of me, as if I had left their game
too early. They could not understand this
practice of detachment, of leaving the duties
of living. I had said, You do not understand,
for you are but earthly elements. But they
replied, You do not understand, for we
are the greater forces.

Desire

I want what I don't want.
I don't want what I want.
I don't want to want at all.
But the wanting is there,
whispering within the walls,
or having a tantrum on the floor,
wailing its lack of something.
I see that other me clearly,
demanding, bleating and begging
for that which is not to be mine now.
It cries for justice, fairness, and rights
but with the same desperate
selfishness that leads to the lack
of justice, fairness and rights.
It is a necessary adversary,
to war with all my days,
and forge who I might be.