Just write, your soul will take care of the rest

The Game of Time

The world is moving ’round in circles

I feel the stress signs on my brow

the heart beats anguishing my chest

the acid puncturing my stomach

the dry mouth claiming out for water.

The glottis closes, the food won’t pass

The back tenses right up to the ache above the eye.



And yet I feel a stillness in the center

Nothing really has actually moved from place

Only the ups and downs  of the horses on the carrousel

Making waves on the outside, in a fantasy upheld

Within I can breathe

And regain the calm centre

And nothing terrible will have happened

Be it one way or another

We want to push around the mountains

They only laugh at us steadfast

They play the tides, and blow the froth

Only to make us believe we are the makers.

What destiny is in hand

We will only know at last

When daisies do remind us

Of our knit-ties to the ground.

Notwithstanding we must play the game

What else is there for our blind humanity

Than seek, and find, what treasures may be allotted

To each of us in our own time.

SIlvia Munton

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