Saturday, November 17, 2012

Push and Pull

It always starts with the push

from somewhere deep within.

From the smallest, tiniest part of me

the part that is trying to fight.

The push is surrounded by light

by good and the power it brings.

The push is the instigation

of taking forward steps.

The push is fragile and timid

weak and on unsteady legs.

The push is always in danger

of the inevitable pull.

The pull is dark and shadowed

it whispers and speaks in tongues.

It wears a mask of many faces

unrecognizable in many forms.

The pull is just what it sounds like

being grabbed from behind and tugged.

Backwards while you scramble

to remain upright, on two feet.

The pull sneaks in at the most opportune times

when fear and sadness reign.

Just when you need the push the most

the pull can steal you away.

Down darkened alleys and side streets

where no one can see where you’ve gone.

Into shadows, behind closed windows and doors

into places that no one belongs.

The pull is stronger than the push sometimes

and at moments like this I’m alone.

Feeling failed and fractured and hiding away

until I can push my way out again.

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