Waking moments
Every day I wake is a shaking moment of how will I move along the whole lighted hours. The questions that rumble through my mind just have to be researched. A puzzle is what happens. Sliding pieces into a grand picture.
Yet not all images or bits of information are used to form the right pieces. Some parts are left scurrying throughout my memories as one day they will mean something.
The light pause of wonder within my spirit, within the rolling thunder in my head. Kindness when people don't call me crazy. By far I am not sure real sanity exists. The modest forms of maintaining this decorum of right and wrong by some legal standards is how I view what is considered normal.
By any means I realize I am far from the societies rules and regulations of normal. I don't think I have ever experience normal, not even at my moment of birth. Too prematurely born, incapable of hearing and surviving what most would consider death times a few. Indeed.
Though even the rambling of sanity, normalcy and quietness within I still find time to empty my mind of all garbage I have held on many people's behalf.
Whether they be lies or truth I do not know. Yet to wash yourself of their acidic toxins you are able to shove their memoir from tender spots in your brain.
Such a soothing experience. Euphoric almost. The bitter taste no longer eats you from within and all you can do is pray they find their release.
And yet the quakes I feel in the mornings, some times, are the prayers being answered. I don't see the results because I follow no part of their lives. But the cleansing of the gain, truly a remarkable bounce of happiness.
Perhaps it sounds bad that I want what is best for people, rather the are in my life currently or long ago memories. Still to the sadness I have, that is the innate helper gene I have. Whether I am really helping or if my prayers are helping. Nevertheless, I may not think on them every day much less every month but sometimes a hope chokes me and demands a giant praise to Jehovah. A kind thanksgiving to the answers given.
Perhaps that may rank me with the crazies, the insane bitties or even the weird recluse but I can't help but feel joy when those in my life find a complete peace within themselves.
Call it what you want. I just am thankful to be a helper. Yes I am grateful for all I think about in the morning too. From the tiny ant pressing along to those in space. Even the man down the street and my very cat. Sure I am weird but one time I was a pea in a pod and a feather just the same.
Times gone. Mind speaks. I write.
Sighing. Onto another poem dears.
Yet not all images or bits of information are used to form the right pieces. Some parts are left scurrying throughout my memories as one day they will mean something.
The light pause of wonder within my spirit, within the rolling thunder in my head. Kindness when people don't call me crazy. By far I am not sure real sanity exists. The modest forms of maintaining this decorum of right and wrong by some legal standards is how I view what is considered normal.
By any means I realize I am far from the societies rules and regulations of normal. I don't think I have ever experience normal, not even at my moment of birth. Too prematurely born, incapable of hearing and surviving what most would consider death times a few. Indeed.
Though even the rambling of sanity, normalcy and quietness within I still find time to empty my mind of all garbage I have held on many people's behalf.
Whether they be lies or truth I do not know. Yet to wash yourself of their acidic toxins you are able to shove their memoir from tender spots in your brain.
Such a soothing experience. Euphoric almost. The bitter taste no longer eats you from within and all you can do is pray they find their release.
And yet the quakes I feel in the mornings, some times, are the prayers being answered. I don't see the results because I follow no part of their lives. But the cleansing of the gain, truly a remarkable bounce of happiness.
Perhaps it sounds bad that I want what is best for people, rather the are in my life currently or long ago memories. Still to the sadness I have, that is the innate helper gene I have. Whether I am really helping or if my prayers are helping. Nevertheless, I may not think on them every day much less every month but sometimes a hope chokes me and demands a giant praise to Jehovah. A kind thanksgiving to the answers given.
Perhaps that may rank me with the crazies, the insane bitties or even the weird recluse but I can't help but feel joy when those in my life find a complete peace within themselves.
Call it what you want. I just am thankful to be a helper. Yes I am grateful for all I think about in the morning too. From the tiny ant pressing along to those in space. Even the man down the street and my very cat. Sure I am weird but one time I was a pea in a pod and a feather just the same.
Times gone. Mind speaks. I write.
Sighing. Onto another poem dears.
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