Parsing Thoughts

Only a few birds are still speaking

the troubled ones, I think, 

as this dusk settles to dark 

and I am left
to look about aimlessly 

and emptily seeking what can be said

for purchase against the unsayable.

And as I might attack a block of ice 

with pick and mallet 

I prize apart the compressed, 

the mass of my obdurate brain,

picking loose the skein of thoughts 

before compressing them anew, condensing,

distilling phrases to word.

Fear

Anger

Pain

Sin

God

My tragic capacity for self-deception 

with the limitation of language,

a driven force required 

to overcome these mantras,

I now see my words a simple finger 

pointing to the moon,

not the moon itself 

and the mallet life's strongest force,

Love

Maybe

Too long have I slumbered
secure within the discomfort
of transferred fears,
the paralyzing gifts
that kept me in a box
unable to venture out,
unable to risk.

I've been hindered, I believe,
believing in the false realities
imposed by others,
my inability to fulfill your expectations,
my feet held to the fire
for falling short.

Lately I spend much time thinking
maybe I have a right to ask for what I want.
Maybe I have a right to be happy.
Maybe it's acceptable, to me,
to have healthy relationships.

I should spend more time writing
and perhaps, one day
I can eliminate the word "maybe".