Sometimes
I find myself
buried deep
in that icky
sticky stuff
that holds so fast
any effort
to break free
drains resolve
and so
I stay put
deep
in the mush
until the marrow
of my existence
is restored
with injections
of precious things -
warm words
sometimes stern
but needed words
an outstretched hand
an inner voice
echoing
from my gut
that I
all too often
dismiss
in favour of
prevailing notions
of what is right
music pulsing
in my veins
a well-aimed smile
a melting hug
blue feathers
that just happen
to appear -
these joyful
wondrous things
strengthen me
to haul myself
out of the morass
recalibrate
my compass
and set forth
once more.
