“You seem hesitant.”
The words echo in temporal space.
From squamous to sphenoid,
Thoughts race.
“Go away,” spoken to a notification.
Stirs up memories vague.
Emotional power of the plague,
Positives lean toward negation.
A fact shared
Or omitted—
Scale tared,
Over-analysis committed.
Grief Tantalean
Becomes grief obsess-ean;
Grief Promethean.
Relief
Requires efforts Herculean.
Answers Protean.
Seize seal shepherd
From behind; hold tight
While shapes shift for fright.
At last a voice heard:
“Son of Atreus,
What do you want from me?”
From mental prison to be freed,
To know what will be.
“Son of Atreus,
Why ask me thus?
Better for you not to know,
Not to learn what my mind holds.”
No future glimpse,
No respite from second guesses.
Seek out Tantalus,
Offspring of Zeus and nymph.
Parched tongue and lips
Inquired why, hands on hips.
Swift reply
With heavy sigh:
To drink, and not thirst;
To eat, and be sated.
“Me first,”
Tantalus waited.
Hands a scoop,
Water-soup
Brought to lips;
Fruit of bough
Into mouth slipped.
“You want to do donuts in an empty parking lot,
You want to put an end to over-thought;
To heal from childhood fears,
And teenage years,
“To not have your confidence
Stolen by the thief
Of yester-years’ defeats,
Nor drained by consequence
“Of verbal wounds, real;
Inflicting damage still;
Wounds that change perceive,
When only perception changed, self-deceived.
“You’ll have to wait until it snows.”
But there is another way I know.
© 2021 H.K. Longmore
Musings of a Kunderian Monster 