But No One Recognizes

When I can’t every turn to writing, what is there left to turn to?

I’m turning, turning and I have vertigo but not because of what you may think-

instead because I’m high up in the air and turning-

to this, to that, I’m hoping that I will turn to my salvation soon,

but I look down upon what is (what is?) my past few days, and

write a change for my future few hours, but nay,

my present moment is forcing me to turn, turn, turning…

 

I look

about, around at all and ask again- a screaming silence-

why am I standing, sitting, laying…

falling-

falling from the high point where I once and maybe one day will once again reside-

I’m plummeting, because of turning, I have vertigo but no one recognizes-

after all, if someone did, then why would I be falling?

I’m screaming,

screaming even before the dizziness set in- still dizzy-

but (and) no one hears the scream.

It’s a whispered scream.

A whisper that transcends the immodesty of

screaming, turning, falling-

for caring and hearing are not the same,

but I know not which is absent,

but I need not learn the truth at all-

perhaps I need to turn to justice to find humility and, ultimately- maybe?-

a salvation, so that I may rise

before my fall

is over…