The Rememberings

Upon my mind it’s but a trick.
It often passes ‘fore it sticks.

It triggers views of what’s been hidden,
By woe, rage and unforgiven.

Hiding there beneath the nose.
It’s never one to impose.

It’s waiting there, to be found,
By a gracious mind unbound.

Sometimes I see the trick it plays.
But I play with it anyway.

This sentiment did make it clear,
For finding ways and means to steer,

Through adventure, misery.
To face concerns and be more free.

To dance within these restraints.
For love of tossing fear and feint.

To orchestrate a form of being.
A simple thought allows the seeing.

It is a trick, not in the least.
A means of building piece by piece,

A hull, crafted on the land,
With time to think and understand.

How I’ll return from the brink,
On a boat that doesn’t sink.