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