Center

Clearing out some clutter............

 
       At time's I close my eye's and know I am at the center of my self. Indifference and wickedness cannot touch me here, for I am at the center of my percipience. I cannot be hurt or touched, for I am at the center of my thoughts. I hear the voices, I am not immune, but they cannot come here, keep knocking in vain. Thinking about talks and tears of rain, hopeful sunrises and lost sunsets. For I am a woman who must feel, taken in because I must.
       Sand through a spinning hourglass, a tiny person with an enormous burden, creates a still juncture in time. I smiled wickedly when I think of the Mother who said to her daughter, this too shall pass. In those moments of exterior silence I hear the mystical sounds of piano notes, flowing, moving me across the keyboard. If I could just compose my life's music across these keys I could rival with the best..........
       I can close my eye's and find myself in the center. Ghosts and skeletons, tomorrow's and memories, it's almost funny how they all have my smile. Given resolutions and decisive stalling. The need for someone to accept all that is wonderful and love all that is forbidding. It's both black and it is white. For I am at the center of my power.
       I knew a woman once, she's a young woman looking at all the choices given, closing her eye's against the suns touch and she cannot be hurt by anything the world sets before her. She hasn't lost her way home, she's see the most beautiful things and stands at the center of her world. She smiles a wicked grin and bows before life in a gracious nod of respect. If you look close enough, you can see the doorways to a thousand thoughts in those eyes. She is there, in the center of her sun.
       In this proud life I am given the freedom of choice. I look down clear and empty paths, or the ones riddled with vines and overgrowth. I glance at pristine rivers, I can take the boat out, I can wade in slowly. I can pull on hiking boots and descend into a canyon or hike to the highest peaks. Always a choice when I am at the center of my intuition.
      Wicked world and mercy streets. I may not  be heard. But I can write. I can write the most beautiful, melancholy, vivaciously happy things and not apologize. I can express anything my center speaks and when I close my eye's, I am at the center of my imagination.