March 3
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 .
Respect randomness
*
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 here 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?
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
Shadows play across shade.
A child of extremes, Yes
Brooding and rage, howling and silence
How have sprinkles and starlight added to the mix?
Purring, musing and sweet kisses
What am I in this 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 here 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?
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
Shadows play across shade.
A child of extremes, Yes
Brooding and rage, howling and silence
How have sprinkles and starlight added to the mix?
Purring, musing and sweet kisses
What am I in this embrace?
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to
Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
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