170. Commitment (Myshkin, 2020) · couplets

I’m like a mariner who’s sick when he’s on shore I do and see the things I’ve done and seen before I tighten up, I overthink, then choice gets hard My poetry stops flowing, one defective bard. Which of these oceans would inspire and delight? Who do I run with? Is my vision worth the fight? Is God still my co-pilot? Was He left behind? Can I still breathe and pray enough to calm this mind? It started raining, and my mood got cloudy gray. I like the forest, but I’m itching not to stay. I like the road, but rolling stones don’t build a house, A nomad’s life is hard on purpose, kids and spouse. The possibilities of this and that are real. Each line of action comes with energies to feel, And plans to make, entanglements to fully choose, Just finite games to infinitely play. And lose. Because who’s losing, after all? Which I is I? The timid one who suffers, scared to seek the sky? The Universal Steward, never born nor dead, Ungrasping, danced by holy melodies instead? I made that blessèd “Fuckit” choice not long ago And I have poetry and soul and friends to show. I try to listen, scared that I might “get it wrong,” Unlike the birds that fly and sing their freedom song. Commitment ceremony? Scary shit! Let’s hide… Run back to safety, let Amygdala decide. What if my choice destroys what’s left of old Mihai? At least my epitaph won’t say “he didn’t try.”