Midafternoon Invocations: Rented Mule

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Put together from a tired soul.

Submitted: September 16, 2012

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Submitted: September 16, 2012



Pushing a cart.

Carrying burdens.

Conflict on whether to pull.

Is pulling animal like?


But isn't this what I am?

What am I in body.

What I am to them.

Conform to be comfortable.


It is but what I am when I am away.

That of what they won't see.

That of what others try to see.

My place and time.


Physical pains.

Tired muscles and worn joints.

Meaningless now.

In the breathtaking light I simmer in my time.


You feel me this way.

I can hush you like static.

Feel you hair on end, Sensitive?

This is my place.


Attracted as I see.

Covering your attempts to forget.

Too tied to this life.

Tied you are but open your experience of being untangled.


I have seen my tired body lie.

I have smelled the breath of deceased.

It troubles you here that I have no fear.

Youv'e seen me here.


Fit I am not.

Not for the mainstream.

I sit on the banks.

Banks where the grass and soft soil caress.


The union that is this water, sheds.

It tears apart the solid which

were here before it.

You stood out.


A gentle seedling fallen from your

ancestor.  You glide apart from the mass.

I have followed.

To where you have reached the bank.


How can you forget to grow?

When you remember.

I can stop pushing.

I will stay here now.


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