Posted by: SPT | August 30, 2012

Trappist Words

Weary, and at a loss for words, I question whether I should write.  I’ve held back for this long, so couldn’t I hold off another night? Feeling Trappist within–silent and observant–but with no larger purpose to life other than to strive, I choose to hold back and analyze my sight. What could I, a humble servant of this light, say to shine? Wanting to reflect, I second guess time. 

Perhaps my switch is off and my back is turned, I laugh. Maybe it’s the blindness that keeps me drifting off path. I’m traveling through the concrete jungle, but instead of driving, I float like an inflatable raft. I cannot control the waters, but I swim and I last.

Weary, and at a lost for words, I question what to write.  “With this world and all of its wonder, what if I blunder,” a repeating thought in my mind. In describing the sights and smells I experience, I lust after the perfect sequence. Of the combinations to choose from, and the infinite possibilities I could run, what If I wrong under this sun.  What if Mother Earth had not been capitalized, or priority wasn’t given to foresight? Would my half-life decay quicker than I fought?

Questions asked with no answer or right, because even their answers could never be bright. Dimmed responses to open-ended lines, a summary of my philosophical flight, keep me company at night.

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