Staring into a bucket of void
I’ve formed familiarities in comfortable disarray
but not the kind that exists en face d’uncertaintude
Moving trains I’ve sat on don’t go as fast as my heartbeat
In thoughts I’ve tried counting how many times I could catch essence in the corner of my eye
Seated in the captain’s chair in the cockpit of la vie
How do the colors of the sky paint themselves to celebrate a day of success
and what do I do to truly see
The growing greens of the seeds I planted years ago
The reds of crusted blood spilled and healed from mistakes made on the way,
The yellows of blinding smiles and suns gripping at the kind of optimism that keeps you stuck
The chasms of blues that grasp at the depressions of light in rocky caves
The currency I trade with faith is, the way my body moves
I don’t make the choices to continue on it’s the base that whispers in my ear, routinely
I write well when in transportation
This is when I am the most still
In passing through
The firstborn, I was first born,
and then what?
-@incomfortabledisarray
-@incomfortabledisarray
