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When Lightning Minds Strike With Thunder

by Sierra Mafield 2 months ago in surreal poetry / performance poetry / inspirational
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Finding comforts, big and small

When Lightning Minds Strike With Thunder
Photo by Shot by Cerqueira on Unsplash

It’s ironic to find that sharing my comforts

is rather disconcerting.

Are my words too much? Too little?

Do I try to relate, or do I craft my own story?

My cheeks are red even without

anyone here to lay witness.

Do you promise - pinky promise - not to run

if my mind turns red, like the chemistry of litmus?

Then I’ll tell you, my friend,

what calms my soul when it’s too tired and weary.

You might find it boring enough to tell your enemies, but

here’s what brings peace, and I promise, none of it is theory.

Getting in bed after a long day is one thing, yes.

But pulling the comforter up to create a third pillow

is like your lover’s sweetest caress.

Even air feels that coziness under the confines of a willow.

I cannot forget about Elmer and Jerry.

They are just a hippo and a llama, but they ensure

that the nightmares aren’t visceral or scary.

Sleep winks back to me, the dark memories just a blur.

None of that soft ease, though, would exist

before I’ve stayed up all night.

Crickets are the only noise in dark bliss

and quiet solitude shortens the breadth of my mind.

I’ll take a blanket and wrap myself in a world

trapped in its many pages.

Even better if I find the story’s twists and twirls

some that will live with me through decades and ages.

Oh! That reminds me - I can’t forget to tell you:

there’s wicked power in a shop full of stories.

Vanilla vines of the lignin pull me through.

I find some moments are just tear-stained categories.

Driving home is a treat that feels like soaring.

The engine’s hum is the only thing needed, for hearing

your own voice is a comfort the outside seems hellbent on ignoring.

Refracted sunshine brings substance to the quiet steering.

Before I greet my own four walls,

I’ll meet one of life’s sketchiest places.

Two dollars and thirty nine cents make me fall

in love with a cappuccino and its warmest embraces.

In the evening’s closet, you’ll find hoodies and fuzzy socks

for home is having layers in which to hide.

Space around me, though, needs to beat, tick tock.

Thoughts risk hurricanes when they match a messy life.

Before the week’s end, I’ll fight pain that’s always chronic

and search for the joy of doctors who haven’t sold their souls.

Knuckles piercing my skin cause an ache quite ironic,

for I vaguely remember feeling like a young foal.

Even old and decrepit, I’ll remember the solace he deploys.

Like the sun greeting you through an east window,

his voice quiets the excess noise,

and his laughter is one that makes happiness glow.

While I find comfort in many things small and specific,

enormity gives way to relief, as well.

The world is far too big to be anthropocentric.

Looking outside and upward can cure the deepest hell.

The sky presents colors as warm as hugs from my mother,

grandeur to soften edges that otherwise feel like shatters.

And far beyond clouds, galaxies are eating each other

so, honestly, does my stress really matter?

I don’t know about you, but I find peace awfully ready

to greet us when our lightning minds strike with thunder.

Comfort isn’t an object so hard to find steady.

We just have to open our eyes, and see with a little wonder.

surreal poetryperformance poetryinspirational

About the author

Sierra Mafield

I don't really know how to write but I do it a lot. And no, I don't have any credibility.

sierramafield.com

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