I came to this clearing
Through thorny thickets,
Encounters with a rough neck and a poison oak
Cowardice and conceit left cuts
But I trudged on, despite my being in weakened form, because after all,
There would be a clearing
I would get there
Their stains have all but faded from this unimaginable present.
Me always having tried to find this clearing unbeknownst to even me what it would look or feel like, and
Who I would be.
I have nothing to say at the moment, standing on this clearing gazing out and across
But I inhale this breath, the first one since being this
Words are just words because breath and breadth take me in a stormed possession.
I am finally listening.
I have heard myself talk too much for too long,
Like a hollow tunnel of technicolor noise violently coursing through my long, wasted years.
I listen to the rattle of leaves and what the doorman was saying,
But not what he was saying, but how and why
In this clearing, I have nothing to prove or explain
I am here and that is all that will be required.
I am absolved of this duty
That I have performed every day without knowledge of an end