Between my two ears is a station

For trains of thought

Coming and going throughout the day

Some stay longer than others

Some come on a recurring basis

Most are random

These aren’t your normal trains, huffing and puffing

They are silent yet imbued with life

Glowing with all types of colors

In the station they reside, inviting exploration

Then in the dead of night, they depart

Fading, only to later return from oblivion

And so the station is unmoving, yet ever changing

Growing as these trains are housed

 

I can only hope for one of unfathomable proportions

With trains everywhere whizzing back and forth

In flashes of color

And in their brilliance

Forming a great rainbow station

Every so often

There comes a time

When all my ties to this earth are severed

And I am free to drift away

Like tumbleweed in the wind

Lighter than the air itself

Relaxing warmness fills my body

All my stress is gone

And the tension eased away

I fly among the clouds, floating freely

What a wonderful world

Our tether to the physical world

Keeping us grounded as we navigate the lands

Through them we are connected to mother nature

In lush grasses, soft sands, and baked rock

They feel

Being part of our identity

Marking wherever we walk with their prints

Giving us the gift of mobility

Through the travels of life, they become weathered and worn

A testament to us curious explorers

Upon bounding into the ocean

With the transition from the soft, definite sand at my feet

To the moving, infinite waters around me

Chills surge through my body

I feel baptized

 

The saltiness of the sea cleans my soul

The striking coldness of the sea awakens me

The turbulence of the sea playfully moves me

And I am revitalized

 

I bear an entirely fresh view

Above me the azure great blue

In front of me, my two sunburnt feet poking out

And around me, translucent rippling water

 

Filled by light, the water bears a faint tropical green

And I see the world in an unprecedented transcendence

The appeal of writing poetry has gone on vacation, leaving no trace behind

I know this is summer, but it really isn’t the time

I would expect my free roaming to cultivate creativity

Or so I would think

A great blanket has smothered my inner fire of humanity
To do, create

Although embers still remain, the catalyst is nowhere to be found

Doing ANYthing feels like work

Resistance counters my every action

It’s the curse that takes us all

Paired with the gift of life is the curse of suffering

Writing eloquently is often thought of as an art

To me it feels like regurgitating my inner thoughts out onto life

Like birthing my screaming thoughts into the world

That’s the beauty of it

The rawness and spontaneity

The best thinking can be in its absence