August 25
AUTUMN
The falling leaves
slap my hand as I ride the road at fifty miles per, my arm dangling
The trees are
shedding their masquerade
Exposed they stand
stark, stripped
Naked to the soul
The growth of this
year's yearning waves on the fringe
I can follow this
lead
Remove pretense not
clothing
Stand before all who
have an interest in seeing me
Unashamed of my wants
And the things I
reach for
I can cast off the
uniform of evolution
And enjoy a long
winter of truth
Do what you do.
*
Echidna’s Child
The difference between perplexed paranoia
and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.
The confusion which swirls,
confounding me along my trudge,
gets the name of procrastinator.
I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that
name.
I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera,
a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic,
striving to live as one functioning specter,
in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.
When I am most myself,
when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.
When I am making deadly compromise
and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the
keepers,
my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling
against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my
head.
I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict,
but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane
and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
