by Yvette Durham

Created on: March 15, 2010

Swarming, off-shooting, multiplying:  Thoughts lock me in.

That rattling, incessant voice; a destructive din.

My soul thuds against the concrete walls of their prison

with jagged nails, scuffed skin; unable to have risen.

My body suffers equally; it scrapes the thought-chain,

dense, cold, along the ground.  My mind is on a campaign,

punishing my emotions.  Dreary is my cell-mate.

Fearful thoughts have wrestled me for so long with their weight.

Yet a shred of sunlight reaches through the barred window.

If I could bask in this light, the walls would crack.  A glow

would spill into my dark thoughts.  This incarceration

is of my own making, of gloomy concentration. 

My thoughts need discipline, like a rebellious child. 

Their tendency is to rage and engage in the wild.

But now I have the key to unlock my mental jail:

My time is done.  Pure, self-affirming thoughts must prevail. 

    

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