All around me is still. But not I. I vibrate, I pulsate. Out of control The more I spiral The worse I feel. I am the storm. The quiet streets Only serve to amplify The indignity Of being Frantic in a peaceful world. I fear my panic might spread! Cast me aside, I am not what the world needs Right now. ~~ A momentary connection To my feet Comes as an unexpected, but welcome, Reminder. A hint to what lies beneath. How can I best meet myself In this tumultuous moment of being? Maybe, I can Embrace this place. It is here. Let me feel it. If I allow my shoulders to drop And let my breath breathe, As best it is able. Perhaps then there is space For my energy to dissipate. My heart palpitating, I glance up, As if my tired eyes Have opened for the first time. Through the window, I see two pigeons, Statue still, Casually surveying the world. Perhaps I too can sit And take in what is around me And my inner rhythm Will synchronise With the sights before my eyes. A sigh. A pause. I see through pigeon eyes. Like a snow-globe, Once shook now still, My inner flurry Drifts down to my feet And settles on the ground. By Peter Morgan Tags: Frantic, peace, grounding |
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