#72 Poetry – For her.

When you awake from the slumbers of sleeps silky caress,
Let the creaking door remind you that not all is made to be perfect,
Let the dull light of twilight creeping in remind you that the ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ is not simply a metaphor,
Let the silence before the hum of day remind you that you still have your voice,
And let the voice of others, familiar and no so, remind you that yours is never alone.

But be patient. Don’t look for fast feet too soon. The head knows where it needs to be.

If shudders should ripple under cloudiness of thought, it is your mind casting lines into rough waters seeking a memory. Be patient. Remember that storms sometimes live in tea cups and tea cups can be deep wells you keep going back to draw from. It will be there when you forget.

And if you should fall into that dark place of your mind, I hope you find the walls of solitude lined with cobwebs, filtering your thoughts. May it help you find clarity as surly as the drip, drip, dripping is the last sound before the storm ends. You will always find your way out.

So when you close your eyes and feel the monotonous pulse of beeping contraptions, let it alas remind you that life has it’s own rhythm that need not to be tamed but nurtured.

It may not make sense to you right now, but remember that in the best of all possible worlds, we are often never where we want to be but always where we are meant to be.

by Hans Lee

Brain blargh

Continue reading “#72 Poetry – For her.”

Advertisements

#70: (Rain)Drops of Anxiety

Pitter-patter,
on roof tops.
Rain drops,
in down pipes.

Pitters of patters
slipping, falling.
Violent in motion,
rushing, gushing,
into alleyways
– be banks, on streets.

Carry raindrops,
to drain pipes.
Labourious is torrent
– be rivers, like Styx.

Keep tame,
my wild heart.
The memory of pitters of patters.
The violence of wild water,
when rain drops go
pitter-patter.

by Hans Lee, 2019

Brain Dump

Continue reading “#70: (Rain)Drops of Anxiety”