Trying to settle the nettles sticking to my pants and socks, shoving hands through air, pushing mutely for the knob.
I’m suspended in air, free falling and being poked and prodded along my way.
There are many ideas being thrown in wasted wicker baskets.
I can’t set flame to them just yet.
I’m busying my hands, peeling away at old layers, pulling to the depths where hot pink is exposed, fresh skin and cells and life, into muscles. I’m pulling in deeper to my bones,peculiar and strong.
The deepest depth runs up north, lapping through the labyrinth of thoughts, waking and wading in pools of patience.
To stop and cool my heels in these pools would be better than best.
There is no time.
There are decisions to be made.
The labyrinth is almost a living being, writhing and reclining instantaneously before me.
I want to make it tangible, touch it and make it understand.
I need clarity.
This being cannot understand what it holds or what it is, just as the Earth is not aware she’s a planet, nor the Sun, a star.
I want to make it tangible, make it understand so I could comprehend and decide, devising a plan to fix this all.
In coming to terms with my inability, I’ve come to accept the waiting and wading.
The patience pools could hold me until the world starts to come together again.
Dawning Creations 
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