Tumble

My racing mind, a million deep

Functioning like an ineffectual cartwheel—

One hand here, one leg there,

The others landing where they will.

Without thought or discipline,

Their lack of training implicit in their wandering.

A deep breath—another go. This time,

Focus is the key, though it’s no more likely

To be better than the last.

Still, I try again. And again.

My scattered hands barely catch me

As I tumble and move.

I progress, somehow—

Forward momentum carrying me on,

Though I often wonder how. My stinging palms

And oft-twisted ankles are clear signs of the feelings

That overwhelm me. And again,

With more feeling, maybe. But feeling holds me back—

Back again to the starting point, reeling

And spinning on.

Movements refuse to be deciphered,

Though I often try to explain them.

It is harder than I imagined—especially while moving—

Because each movement is unique, each unfolding

Like a symphony of chaos, unfurling its banner

To ripple in the wind, and just as difficult to predict.

So I ripple to the next, carried on and on,

To try and explain what won’t, and move

In a way that feels like home.

A Note from the Author:

I haven’t written a piece of poetry in over ten years. I’m not sure why—fear, maybe. Though if I’m honest, I couldn’t tell you exactly what I’m afraid of.

When I write poetry, I don’t follow any specific form or method. I just write whatever I feel in the moment.

This piece was written this morning, while I was reflecting and circling ideas for my next fantasy/science fiction story.

Feel free to comment—negative or positive. Or just enjoy.

—Justin