The charge

It’s a charge of the most

extraordinary kind

when the force of love

overrides destiny

thought safe and secure

by a mind not open to more.

But no mind can resist a preordained move

declared and decreed a necessity

by the master of human-like puppets

behind the scenes pulling the strings

and forcing its will on the poor.

 

And, yes, I cry and bemoan, bewail,

until I align with the knowing that I

and only myself I’ll have you know

is the one who pushes and pulls

and sends me packing and sealing boxes

like a factory worker.

 

They pile to the ceiling because the charge

knows order must yet be maintained

in the rush and scurry to be somewhere else

like the peak and pinnacle of love’s ecstasy.

 

Yet boxes and strings and most everything

weighs a mind down and plants it on earth

and a mind must be free to go anywhere

but it can’t you see without “you”.

 

There’s always a “you” somewhere in time

that allows an escape for an immature mind

into that place behind the scenes

where all masters convene to plan strategy

and say whether I love or not.

 

So I do what I do and think what I think

until total denial and ignorance

makes of the master a stupid fool

who neither can speak of the ground rules

or enlighten the sadly bemused.

 

Excuse me please but I’m just a “me”

who meekly follows the boxes!

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