Journatation

Journatation

My mood brewed dark as a cloud,
twisting and turning in the damp sky,
tearing to reveal your bright white flashes,
threatening and slapping the earth like spit,

waiting until I and only I
choose to unfetter
my better mood—
though it can’t preclude
my persistent attitude.

And this comes when I wake
and shuffle out of the bedroom,
down the stairs,
into the cubby hole,
in front of the window,
and behold
the sunrise in my eyes—
may it melt away
the mood of the day.

And all this happens
while my pen wiggles,
light as a star
twinkling in the night sky,
bright and brighter still,
lone jewel seeming
to toss me gleaming rays,
digging past the chattering haze,
from the last of the dreaming phase.

And this came after I opened you,
the journey called journaling through,
knowing that “pen” is not the latter part
of “open” by accident—
I turned past the front page,
to where I left you yesterday,
left to go to the "side" and play,
building to that depraved dream—

and the mood I did just deem—
to be your antithesis,
in the extreme.



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Written within the parameters of the theory of "Multivalence" .  For a
"pruned version" of this concept, see "The Book"