The weave!

‘tis not a spider web but the weave of one bemused
that twists and turns, overlaps, and tucks the corners in
to ensure a neat conformity and unruffled approach
to the nudge and prod of love
that demands acknowledgement.

No wind or rain dislodges same or hail dent the façade
for the weave of mind by one bemused
too solid and compacted
to allow a journey down into
the essential truth.

And that weave my goods and property,
my pension, comfort zone,
and my busy-ness and bustling
betwixt the non-essential
and the soon to dust.

So stands the one bemused in a swamp land
sinking, sinking, sinking,
and sinking, sinking, sinking,
until sinking kills the thinking
and heart released at last
rises up from the depths.

But no one braves a swamp land
to retrieve the risen up
unless, unless, they know
that heart is meant to last!