My Enthusiast
Enthusiasm is a sharp blade in our toolbox of genuine stories.
The box embroidered with desire and filled with emotions you learned before thinking
to raise your right hand
and give your answer an
honest try.
A want
to be willing
to be worth it.
That’s what enthusiasm brings.
A hammering heart next to
the beating one you have
no control over.
It beats the blood upward like piano keys
hammering your brain to
make a decision for your body to act upon.
A decision that breaks
mantic-metallic peace and concrete brick chaos
into two opaque pieces
and welds a glass mirror of love
in between
to remind you that the
happiest time of life prescribed
to you was when you saw
your reflection
and could see through any
circumstance
clearly.
We call ourselves blacksmiths.
Take bits and pieces of moments
and memories
lay them across the
old wooden table
and try to piece together
a sword shiny enough to
smile at your problems in the steel.
But there is sword so spotless
No, there is no sword
strong enough to keep the
table from splintering your fingers.
Foundation is everything.
A deaf man screaming at
a blind girl’s watch dog
to direct her out of green light traffic
will do nothing more but
make the mutt angry
and he will bite at your hand
for feeding his master murderous
mumbles.
If there is one thing
that my life stories have
taught me
it’s that you can’t wield an excalibur of peace
with a wood-splintered vision
of the future
And that you can be
the cause of chaos
if no one understands
what you’re saying.
‘Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.’
No matter what your
intentions are
actions will always speak louder than traffic-signal speech.
So forge enthusiasm inside
of a burning desire
to love other
people
without being so judgmental.
The toolbox of genuine,
embroidered with desire
grins at me
every time I see my reflection
and see you standing
by my side.
My enthusiast.
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