Alone With My Thoughts - Dec 1 2021

 

Alone With My Thoughts

Dec 1 2021

The ancients thought the circle

was the perfect shape.

But alone with my thoughts

I am caught in a loop

of regret

and uncertainty.

Contained

in an impervious skull.

Because bone reflects,

as all hard surfaces

return sound;

so it's as loud and cutting as ever,

echoing

and cancelling out.

A straight line

is the shortest distance between two points.

But roads begin as meanders,

forest trails and cattle paths

before we pave them over;

they follow the land,

and who can know

an animal's inner life?

But even if "if/then" seems direct enough

nothing is as simple as that.

Because the universe is curved

so nothing is truly straight,

and the convolutions

of the human brain

are even more intricate.

How do I feel?

Better to ask what;

scientists may want to know how

but I want clarity.

And when I'm ready to speak

should I say it out loud

or keep it to myself,

continue listening

for the signal in the noise?

Even if all language is metaphor

and words inadequate.

A ring, a circuit, a sphere.

I circle its perimeter

roam its constant surface.

It would be so much quicker

to cut an arc

straight to its origin,

the beating heart

that's always at the core.

But there are no straight lines

and I cannot.

And could the ancient Greeks

have gotten it wrong?

That circling gets you nowhere

and perfection is impossible.

That I am cracked,

the sum of all my flaws.