How quickly those little gremlins creep out
From forgotten tucked aways;
The dirt and darkens.

How terribly they spring up
Conjuring suddenly and
Devilish images of thought forgotten
Heartache and jealous

The stoic, composed, trained-relaxed:
Your face
And slow breath and beating heart,
While the spirit-beast is beating raging hard!

Has this become an empty mantra?:
I live intentionally
The choices I make are not for pleasure
Or experience.
Or by saying this am I reminded of how I should live?
And like the gremlins from forgotten tucked aways
A flower on brittle dead vines unfolds and fills
A landscape of falling pedals and beaming.