When you would have me
Still, and restful, and serene
I cannot help but shift, drum fingers
And move to a rhythm in my head.
When you ask that I simply exist
Unleavened, and therefore, unpounded
How – How, I ask, can I be that
Which I can’t. Ever.
You may have left that fizz aside.
But boy, have I got enough, within!
That niggles, and nudges, and
Slowly, then steadily, and rapidly
You wanted a model;
Perhaps a mendicant, of the soul;
That you could, then mould.
But- May I, myself, form into the
Shapes of my dreams?
Mould into them,
Lest I mold.
4 June, 2013
Online. In anticipation, of cross-currents, and cross-wiring.
Sigh. I know. I’m in need of some rest 😛