Wind Chime: Poetry

If I could hang there
in the breeze and twinkle
merrily throughout my days,
even when the tough
winds surfaced,
I don't think it would
be so bad

Sometimes these things
slip through my fingers
and I can clean them
so thoroughly as to
reinvent myself

It's like quicksand, really
stepping on what you thought
was solid ground
only to find the bog beneath

and then to contemplate
dying in the waters of
emotions you don't want
to acknowledge,
would rather deny

How much better to
be a wind chime,
hanging there in the breeze
And I'm starting to think
that even the toughest wind
would not be that bad

Because it's all the same,
being there on the beach
and watching the tide
but your mind is on everything
and anything but the solace

It's like you packed your
entire network,
the whole employed kettle
of problems,
and they followed you into
when you thought you
left them in the car

And somehow there's just
not enough sand
for all the crowding thoughts
And somehow there's
just not enough sky
to keep the seagulls of doubt
from smashing into each other

No, no...

Much better to be a wind chime,
fluttering there prettily in the breeze,
see how the light glints off me
and music plays from me so fine?
Because if I am just a chime,
then even the toughest winds
would not be so hard to face

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