there are these days stretching
the edges of the mind,
they pull fishhooks and shoes
from the bed of the sea
all the uncried tears are
down there, they dried
out the fingers of your soul,
unwept tears made you hard
they made your walk heavy
and your neck stiffen,
to find them is torture,
and then release
though even if you have gone far
you cannot return to the place
where you came from: now
you and this place are not the same
there are these days when
you feel lost though you are not,
it is only the slow opening of knots
and patterns shifting and moving
and you can listen to the music,
follow the pureness of frequencies,
find through rhythm and resonance
and be alive in the pauses
where silence speaks to you
from deep inside:
be who you are
and take a coffee
note:
12 : 9 = 8 : 6
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