Tuesday, 9 May 2017

There is no room for more than this.

No space for past and future
What I really am,
Who I really am.

The house is too small
For all that has been
And all that will be
And all the distractions of now.

The inhale catches and holds.
The exhale like a sigh.

What is a sigh except resignation?
What is a hold except fear of what’s to come?

There is something inside
Too painful to touch,
Too beautiful to see
The breath inside the breath

Do I know this to be true?
Do I think I know this to be true?
How will I know what is true?

Open the door

Open the door