The Big Picture

The Big Picture

Bravery lurks behind the trauma most succeed in evading for a while, floundering
in monotony mistaken for happiness.
One need not seek out the joy,
obsessively scouring beneath mammoth rocks and boulders,
searching for lost items that, at one time,
were considered to be owned.
To possess is not to cherish, to have and to hold
so empty, so cluttered. The comfort
supercedes revelations, flung carelessly aside
only to crawl, once again, to the cracks and crevices of moss-strewn stones.
Sleeping? It’s day. Some die partially discarded; others are forgotten.
But burning destroys the evidence, makes it
easier to forget though objectives more genuine may have birthed the fire.
Stone, or air? Wind, or water?
Ah, the finality of elements. They need not struggle
for balance. The simplicity of being calls
from the flames, whispering on the breeze.
Standing on a dirt road with scuffed shoes, faintly feeling
a rumble, a gentle memory of movement
never experienced,
you want to submerge yourself;
break though the ever-moving peaks that continuously overcome one another
past this rocky edge and
become essential.