Poem by Dan Stone
Where was I?
In the middle of . . .
something. . .
Seemed important
at the time.
A tug of war,
a push and pull
of this or that,
a fretting mind,
versus trusting heart,
an argument
that keeps on
keeping on.
A clash of wills.
Will I march
to orders
from without
or will I listen to
this child within
who doesn’t care
to fight and win.
She only cares
what she creates,
and why.
That’s where I was,
again. At odds.
Stifled. Stuck.
Until a bit of whimsy
wandered in,
diverting me . . .
from me.
And suddenly
I just forgot
to worry, wonder
if I’ll ever be enough.
Suddenly that fear
felt flimsy, weak.
Suddenly I had
another thought:
I’m so much freer
on the days
I let the art
in me, just lead.
Days when I
don’t pay so much
attention to the ways
I do or don’t succeed,
when I don’t try so hard
to plead my case.
I make a note to self
to let distraction referee,
to lose my fight
and keep my peace.
Where was I?
In the middle of . . .
something. . .
Seemed important
at the time.
A tug of war,
a push and pull
of this or that,
a fretting mind,
versus trusting heart,
an argument
that keeps on
keeping on.
A clash of wills.
Will I march
to orders
from without
or will I listen to
this child within
who doesn’t care
to fight and win.
She only cares
what she creates,
and why.
That’s where I was,
again. At odds.
Stifled. Stuck.
Until a bit of whimsy
wandered in,
diverting me . . .
from me.
And suddenly
I just forgot
to worry, wonder
if I’ll ever be enough.
Suddenly that fear
felt flimsy, weak.
Suddenly I had
another thought:
I’m so much freer
on the days
I let the art
in me, just lead.
Days when I
don’t pay so much
attention to the ways
I do or don’t succeed,
when I don’t try so hard
to plead my case.
I make a note to self
to let distraction referee,
to lose my fight
and keep my peace.