AND THIS . . .
By Michael Mallows
There
is this; that when I lay there
Unable
to move more than my limbs,
Or
my eyes, my thoughts, my dreams,
I
yearned to cross the bridge between feeling and thinking.
There’s
this; when I moved the pictures in my mind,
My
thoughts began to follow.
I
saw the many walls between thee and me.
I
wanted to climb over, crawl round, see through.
I
felt hemmed in, bound by love and affection,
Yearning
to move hither and yon,
Longing
to be somewhere else,
Yearning
for a sense of direction.
And
there’s this; when I began to crawl,
I
wanted to fly.
I yearned to reach wide enough to touch the edges of the sky.
When I began to walk, I longed to ride.
From
here to there - and back again
To
here, there, anywhere. Anywhere!
When
I was riding, I wanted to soar.
Wanted
my dreams to follow as far and as high as my eyes could see
And
my heart could feel.
And
when I could see, I wanted to run.
I
wanted to feel the wind on my face
And
the raging fire of. . . what?
I
didn’t know.
I
don’t know!
I
only know I yearned to cross the bridge between longing and knowing.
And
there’s this; when I thought I knew, I wanted to forget.
When
I thought I’d forgotten, I yearned for recall.
When
I tasted freedom I looked for walls.
When
I found walls I reached for doors.
When
I found doors, I often wanted to close them.
And
still I dream, and when I lie here
Unwilling
to move more than my limbs,
Not
ready for giving and too tired for taking.
I
yearn to burn the bridges between dreaming and waking.