Poem-A-Day: Day 123

Balancing Axe

My chemical imbalance
is caused duly
by my own self medication,
and some lack
in hibernation,
sending senses somewhere down,
down to the doldrums
to mine for ore, or
nothing more
than boredom on his lips
exhaling air in some sudden gust.

The wind passing through tulips,
bending them slightly,
though as not to break them,
merely force them into
some understanding
that they’ll never sleep,
no, not while blooming,
the sun is too harsh a simmering heat
that radiates caution
in every direction
except the one most needed.

There is no direction,
only distraction
caused by something lacking,
cerebral madness from the mind,
mined thoughts crippled
by some strange requirement,
forethought or afterthought,
that has left little left to do
but dote
and wait to fall
from being poor in balance.