Call of Reality by John Doelman

I move through the day,
working with the tools at hand,
listening to the noise in my head,
trying to decipher incongruent thoughts.

I laid myself on the slab of truth.
There would be no more locked doors
and hidden caves in my reality
where you were unwelcome.

I would prostrate myself
into the arms of vulnerability,
allow you to touch my soul,
give access to my deepest feelings.

What felt like a beautiful and clear path
has become scratched and unfocused
like the giant binoculars at Pelican Island,
turn the knob and still no clarity.

Where did our roads diverge?
Vulnerable is good when pages meld
but painful when those pages are torn
creating a new generation of doubt.

This quasi fear can’t be easily shared;
its antagonism pushes
away spontaneity and brings back
familiar but dreaded wall builders.

Holding back anything at this point
is counterproductive to us,
is anathema to momentary perfection
that is our God given gift, today.

I don’t want to share some of me,
it will be all of me or just a fringe.
Halfway simply cracks a poisoned door
once long ago left behind.

Take me naked as I am, or leave me,
but don’t leave me hanging and hoping
because I will gently turn around,
and walk myself back through the door.

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Photo: Eugenio Mazzone