Hold this talk

Hold this talk

Of changing winds,

Tides that ebb and flow

With the wax and wane

Of a moon, that

In its own pale reflection

Affects the maintenance

Of a stable constitution.

Or, that in the turn

Of just one day

Flowers will both bloom and die,

Nothing compares

To the change that comes

Between the drawing

Of one breath and the next.

When, with the shallowest

Of inhalations

Outlooks so wildly turn.

A mood at once serene

Will rise and fall,

From peak to trough,

And out of nowhere,

Not even from the thinnest air,

That fills the hairline gap

Between blinking

And a swallow,

From a place that

Nestles in the space

Between believing

And in knowing,

There is a sudden

Shift, that seems to

Blacken every

Single drop of colour

And fills the air with

Doubt and gloom.

How come

This unkindest cut of all?

When it falls on me

I am obliged to change it.

I must not let

This internal switch

Dictate my entertainment,

Interfere

With my engagement,

Cause damage to my relations.

I must embrace this man

Too easily moved away from,

Reject the whim of humour,

The subtle change from day to day

That tilts the disposition,

And so disorientates

Those who love me.

If I want these

Days to be filled with

Hope and treasure,

I must measure myself

Against the man

I try to be,

And guard against

Such self determined thinking,

Today, tomorrow

And every other single day.