Even in the midst of the noise,
the turmoil, the uncertainty,
there is, there should be, there must be,
for your own survival,
Silence, where the strength grows,
where truth unravels
from the tangle,
a slow tedious thing,
secrets and lies and betrayals
and abandonment, slight of hand
and the mistakes of the decision of sight.
It is not easy. And so you need the time.
It is your creation place,
where you see what is not there
watch it build, layer upon layer,
until you can see the whole of creation
and the act itself is almost paint by numbers,
the actual opus in your mind, whole and unsullied,
About this poem
I have been in sort of a zen place the past few days.