The Stampede

Why, when I’m still

Do I hear a stampede?

 

The wildebeest of peace

They’re charging at me;

A cluster of dusty horns

For as far as the eye can see

 

You tell me,

I must let them pass

They’re to trample on me

If there’s to be quiet at last

 

And why, then,

When I’m in my own

 

Is it a stifling place?

A ghetto of memories

That I cannot erase

And mirrors reflecting

A stifled face

 

I ask, why does the sky

Of what ‘could be’

And the low-hanging fruit

That fall from her tree

Have me so terrified

That they’ll all fall on me?

 

And why. Why

When I walk towards love

Do my feet fumble and flail

 

Across this taut tight rope

Of misguided hope

Or is it a slippery slope?

Because I’m sliding so fast

I just might not cope

 

You tell me to focus

In me, please remain

You repeat this to me

Time and again

Your trust, my girl,

It mustn’t wain

 

Because in the end

It will all be okay

I promise you this

It’s the only way

wildebeest-snp_5108

Photo: Some days feel like a stampede of dust and horns, but really, it’s just a migration to greener pastures.

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