Wrote this about three years ago...the last time the Muse stopped by.
Storm
My thoughts are debris.
Pieces of larger ideas smashed
In the tornado vortex of my heart.
Where the speed of my thinking
and the unequalized pressure of my emotions
create storms of passion.
Unpredictably changing direction
strengthening, weakening,
indiscriminately destroying all structures without foundation.
Passing over the bunker where joy resides.
In the debris field I wonder alone.
Only the elemental pieces remain.
No longer able to differentiate what was good or bad,
Right or wrong, black or white.
A million sparkling jewels in a field of gray.
As I walk I find things.
I put one in my pocket.
I return to the bunker.
I sit and breathe.
Storm
My thoughts are debris.
Pieces of larger ideas smashed
In the tornado vortex of my heart.
Where the speed of my thinking
and the unequalized pressure of my emotions
create storms of passion.
Unpredictably changing direction
strengthening, weakening,
indiscriminately destroying all structures without foundation.
Passing over the bunker where joy resides.
In the debris field I wonder alone.
Only the elemental pieces remain.
No longer able to differentiate what was good or bad,
Right or wrong, black or white.
A million sparkling jewels in a field of gray.
As I walk I find things.
I put one in my pocket.
I return to the bunker.
I sit and breathe.