Patchwork Heart
If I trust what I see I am left to the visions that are shown to me. Whether it is my eyes or my mind’s eye, I am left to judge the truth of my perception.
If I am to trust what I hear, I am left to decide whether I have heard the voices of men, songs of birds, or the persistent wind that blows through my mind.
If I am to trust what I smell, I am left with my nose in the air as if to search out a scent, or an idea or an emotion so deeply tied to that which illicits my quandary.
If I trust what I feel, I am left to decipher the aches and pains of hardships past, or the real and sometimes forgotten suffering of those left silent.
Trust, I must. “Who?” or “What?” is the question. To my mind in silence I retreat. It tells me of stories heard, emotions felt and images seen. Filtered with today’s “truth” I see a world built for my mind. It entertains me. It convinces me of what I want. But what I want, I do not know. My mind tells me.
Can it write the play and be the actors? It tells me of impossibilities, when what I want are all the possibilities. It cannot fathom what it hides inside of itself. A shell worn thin, the truth peaks thru. The beating heart, it never withdrew. Love firm, a trust I know. Forgotten and neglected, if there is something to trust, may it be my heart, I know to be just.
photo credit: Wee Notions
