Down to the Creek


From our maroon house so safe, I’d take a hidden path down to the creek,
Full of questions until satisfied with answers undeniably oblique.
My mind wandered north and divagated south,
From my balled up fists to my unspeakably loud mouth.

“Its all in my head”, from my large brown eyes right down to my tender temples,
Once upon a time, my understanding was just so incremental.
Every path obstructed can take you somewhere, even if accidental.
We silence ourselves, the loudness of our inner melodies so monumental.

I now see it was all an extraordinarily elemental catastrophe.
An incurable malady, you’ve caused yourself to be the only casualty.
And the banks of the creek would fill to the brink, to excess, to the brim.
I’m engulfed in my carelessness, surrounded with despair, wherever my whim.

A minor in my own details.
An unwitting juvenile of inherited ails.
My starting point? No, it’s so much more than I ever thought.
My ancestors, my relatives, my long losts, represents a mentality that I cannot.

The prologue begins with an utter lack of strength.
I grow into my height, until my story is in arms length.
I am towering, so I know to reach higher – but instead, I reach for the madness,
An eviscerating guilt making room for the fruits of my ardent appetence.

And it’s about time.
About time to make space.
Space to create time.

It is time to move on.
Whether it is in Milwaukie, Damascus or Amman,
I will never find myself of those permanently withdrawn,
You will find underneath my pillow, for dreams of the forgone,
A very special, small and blue Holy Koran.