Strange Poem ( An Autobiography)

A grain of rice in a large field of fruiting stalks, with the same differences and

different similarities as everything around it. A part of a part, yet still important.

Change slept and woke within me, a curse of dabbling doing more good than

harm.

Musical notes swirl around the shadow of my steps, their crescendos and

ritardandos flying like a ribbon dancing in the wind.

Hot, vapory mists trail my location like an earthly-smelling fog, warming the

memories long trapped in ice.

Threads of all colours fall out of my satchel, shades that mimic that of spring,

autumn, and winter coat them, creating a cosy mix of homely warmth.

The luke-warm blood of sweet onion, rough-chopped potatoes, and cured bacon

laces my hand, smelling of home with a dash of spices.

And the hugs of loved ones protect me like a defensive shield, never hesitating to

help to the extent of its abilities.

But the imperfection of perfection stalks me, ready to seize control of my

consciousness, it’s claws ever-sharp

The burden of sadness, like a restless dog, stares at me, wishing for attention,

wishing for things I do not have.

The always growing spore of regret sits, saddening the greatest of victories and the

worst of times, ending the joy I once possessed

A neverending clash of good and bad battles within me, neither having a clear

indication of which is which; An endless shade of grey.

Time passes slowly, but travels in the close of an eyelid.

Years whirled past me, as if it was a freight train, racing past as if it was in a hurry,

late for an unknown task.

Yet resonance sounds within me, even in the cruellest of battles, deadliest of duels,

and saddest mournings.

A resonance that neither helps, nor worsens, but strides through the bloodened

battlefield, not making a peep, yet still there. A resonating resonance that is fine as

is, no need of attention nor sustenance. A resonance that is a resonance, no more,

no less.