As They Go

There is a natural ease of feeling

Instinctual to act rather than anticipate

When I sit down to write,

I try to wrap my head around something, anything, worth finding poetic

I search for meaning in metaphor and sensations in science

I write and write and write and delete and delete and delete

Nothing sounding sincere or good enough

But when I stop, when I shift my focus from my head to my heart

Allowing my fingers to spin the thread of the web of my weaknesses

To catch the flies of feeling who were left feasting on the remains of fidelity

The words go from cobweb to composition

Yes, there is a natural ease of feeling

We just forget to dust it out sometimes