MONSOON

 

I left my steady blues skies

for the tumultuous thunders of your love.

Your walloping winds carried me away 

while your rapid rains flooded my barren canyons.

Then, when the monsoon season was over, so were we.

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THE ROLE I TAKE IN MY OWN SUFFERING

 

My intuition is never wrong.

That gut feeling is my guiding force.

But I have been conditioned to quiet the conundrum in my head.

 

These voices are neither chaotic nor conflicting

for they each have their own valid truth.

I've been usurped into understanding 

that ultimate truth is unanimous.

 

My left hand does not ask for permission from the right 

prior to taking action.

The bird does seek the sky's sanction 

to fly through its blue beyond

be there, sun or storms, or clouds or winds.

 

I can no longer blame you for my behavior. 

You were just one of a handful of pebbles 

on my sleek, sandy shore,

-a solitary ocotillo among some palo santo and saguaro.

 

Of all the paths to take, I purposely chose the pursuit.

I agreed to jump into this journey,

one eye wide open while the other laid lazily behind closed lid.

 

I am the master of my mind,

the sage of my sight,

the engineer of my emotions,

the pilot of my pains and pleasures,

and you are no longer second in command.