For what is a poem but a hazardous attempt at self-understanding: it is the deepest part of autobiography.
- Robert Penn Warren
In between the obliteration of the day
and the mists of the dawn she finds herself quieted
enough to examine within for not only what went wrong
but what can be with reconnecting the heart to the mind outlier.
She wanders around the solitudinal walls until the whisper of the soul
grabs hold of her ego bending it to the humbleness of the greater energy of the heart.
Not so much where once she walked but more where now she sits
then how to reach out with a renewed determination
to be better at understanding first the meager flawed self
embracing it regardless and encouraging it forward,
then kindness and a humble compassion for all others encountered
ready for more lessons to be learned in the connecting that does not end.
Detach from the main
to become what can be gained
when love is the energy
that drives this heart home.
She was always nothing
which could have been something
had she recognized the nothing
holding it in love.
Something is only nothing when
nothing is refused its due.
Nothing becomes the smallest
when nothing is held in love.
~ flow ~
~ flow ~
She wandered in
to then sit for an hour
took deep breathes
She was only better upon realizing
that it was in others she could see herself.
~ gasp ~