Poem-a-Day

^{“The power is with the silent ones ...”
—Swami Vivekananda}

Something in me revels in silent mojos. Something in me anchors in chaos, collecting in folds like dripping wax. Something in me presents like solid linen while something drifts like silk in tousled winds. Something in me watches me from foreign dimensions. Something in me walks barefoot. Something in me thuds like tactical boots heard by neighbors down the street. And then something in me stays, inaudibly staring at no one. In every state, I hope to be understood. “Wait, what?” My needs, my errors, my missteps, my love, my extended giving nibble like besotted puppies with immature teeth. Deliberately, as it rains or snows, I let these lead me into some sort of wisdom as I rub my palms soothing the aridity of increasing wrinkles. 
Sigh, sigh, sigh again, sigh
I try, truly I do, I promise I try
I even sing me a soft lullaby
If nothing folds, it’s goodbye.