Saturday, March 1, 2014

The Mechanics of Circumstance

an all too driven word
like a stake not satisfied with finding purchase
but aching to reach still, to the under side of my heart

I am here, now
It's not a choice; as perhaps I'd like it to have been
had I lived the life of my fantasies
and not this variance of worst case scenario

The choice is in which tool I use
anguish, hope, discovery, fear, contempt, love
all on the palette of my imagination
which paint I dip my brush into is the fact of my freedom

I should be miserable; It's cold, my pain is exaggerated
as is the pain of everything around me
yet even pain has art within its miserable existence
in fact often more extreme color and noise than even joy

Were it not for this...circumstance
I would be elsewhere, no longer visible
no longer able to see the glorious in the mundane
or the praiseworthy in the malevolence of winter's angry grip

Somedays, the pain is all that matters
Obsess, overwhelm; both, all too driven words
More often, pain is a thing of beauty
because I choose to make it so

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