Untangling

Adversity-inspired poetic ramblings.

Sometimes I am uneasy,

Sometimes I am unsettled,

Sometimes I feel queasy,

Sometimes I feel rattled,

These darkest moments tend to crease my forehead,

They tend to make my want to doubt,

These confusing lapses into the state I would avoid,

They tend to shake my resolution,

This is when I feel unbalanced,

This is when I misinterpret my world,

In moments of clarity it seems clear,

But in these shivers of my misconceiving mind,

I tend to spontaneously blur the path onto which I know I should steer,

I can become a noun so misconstrued,

Rather than a verb of action,

Or a concept with a will to find,

These are not tests of my will,

They are opportunities for me to decide,

These are moments that allow me to make sure the choice is mine,

The choice to choose a life of clear purpose,

The choice to release all resistance,

I swirl in an existence of multiple possibilities,

An amalgamated palette of oily colours,

To be mixed into an infinite tree of combinations,

I am these colours,

And I am the painter,

Swirling and twirling and whirling and curling

my brush through the strokes of my own experience,

We are all these colours,

And we are all our own artists,

Dipping our brushes into the same palette,

Painting different, overlapping sections,

Of the same four-dimensional canvas,

And sometimes my brush escapes my intended pattern,

And the picture that is released onto the open whiteness,

Forgoes all my plans for politeness,

I can try to paint over the mistake,

But,

somehow,

sometimes,

the mistake is exactly the mark I want to make,

Far better for us to accept what has been done,

And appreciate the infinite beauty,

Of the sketchy, feathered, imperfection,

Built into our past,

Certainly the wiser man is patient,

And continues to paint,

As perfectly as he can,

Yet accepting that any honest mistake,

Is absolutely no taint,

And trusting that somehow it's part of the plan,

And it's happened for the entire painting's sake,

Slowly, as the boundaries of our various sections,

Begin to blur,

And our individual attempts at artistry,

Begin to concur,

Begin to overlap,

They begin to form a map,

Of utter, breathless, beauty,

The whole thing does intricately intertwine,

Taking advantage of each misplaced line,

To create an immense, fluctuating sign,

Suddenly the mistakes all take their place,

And the past loses its' previous face,

As I see it's ideal placing,

As the reality I am facing

Reviews

[Sarah]

lovely peace

[*~*Butterfly Kisses*~*]

Awesome write in to the world of artistry and writing. Wise words and captivating lines. Brilliant piece, Gilad.

~Anna Rose