My thoughts contradict each other,
Not because of their logic
But because they go off in different directions,
The comedic and the tragic.
Because they fly into my skull
And descend into my guts
Because they swing me into extremes
Of chromatic sharps and flats.
And only a man with a spear,
A shield, a powerful stance,
Can welcome these warring contenders
In the arms of turbulence.
As winds collide and rage,
And twist and pull at his eyes,
At their heart he sees their quiescence
And the sun at the core of the days.
Yaacov David Shulman