Dichotomy's Embrace

March 4

DICHOTOMY’S EMBRACE

Contentment and security bleed in through the doors and windows of my heart. Peace blows its fine wind across my mind. I fear for my identity. I raise my hand to beat the drum. Is my pulse still there if the beat of discontent is not? The warmth seeps in, my fingers uncurl. I resist the urge to tilt my face to the sun. How can I be I, if my countenance is not bleak? Mirth escapes my lips. Am I a creature of laughter?

Shadows play across the shade. My brain feels through levels of sheltered memory. I am old and age hangs from my brow. I am young and exposure stings my flesh. In all this, joy? Where can I enfold this antithesis? A child of extreme, yes. Brooding and rage; hounding and silence. How have sprinkles and starlight added to the mix? Purring, musing and sweet kisses. What am I in this embrace?

Write a collage.

The Horse of a Different Stripe

When I arrived at the horse and pony show,

I saw all there was to see;

there were Morgans, Walkers, and Paints.

Yet I couldn’t help but return

to this particular zebra,

the spark of my imagination,

the inspiration of my dreams.

There was no help for me,

I want what I want and need what I need.

It was all about spirit, all about soul.

The fire in its eyes matched

the burning of my heart,

ignition at the point of recognition.

Then I stumble, then I fall,

bad behavior and wrong thinking,

the selfishness of the self-involved

takes hold and runs my mouth, “

Nice mount, great steed,

But can nothing be done about these stripes?”

The flash in those eyes,

the knowing knickers, said it all.

I was trying to stay in my small place

and that would never work with her,

if I wanted the Zebra,

I had to be willing to go to Africa.