Ghost Of Past Success

Morning,
and after completing everything
I usually do — testing my blood,
my weight, my pressure — and after
doing dishes and turning out
lights in kitchen and bedroom,
I come here and sit before
a keyboard full of shame and
possibilities galore and I wonder
which I will find today.

Ghosts of past success
haunt me. Demons
of past failure snicker
at my attempt.

Meanwhile outdoors
cars go by, people
walking their dogs speak
to each other. Somewhere
a bird lets out a long,
low song — not even a song;
more a cry to be seen,
to be noticed.

I don’t know what to think
of all this. It’s not
quiet but not bustling
or bursting with sound,
either. I’m in silence,
waiting for something inside
to pop, to come forth
one way or another,

and out there seems to expect me
to partake of it when I would like
nothing more than to close my eyes
and ears to it forever.

Out there, in here —
I should say they are
the same, but they aren’t.
Out there is freedom
from wanting everything
to come inside of me.
In here is…whatever
this is. This longing
to be elsewhere. This yearning
for a release that will not come
when I ask for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T