Stay Still

When in pain, some people are told
To run away and seek refuge
In foreign places, with foreign people
In a supposed search for their soul
As if pain strips us of our humanity
That you’d have to avoid it at all costs
As if pain detaches the soul from its earthly vessel
That you’d have to find it elsewhere
But what if while you’re sent away
Bathing in pain while skipping stones
Or climbing mountains, or skydiving
What if he comes knocking back
On your door step
With hand-picked flowers
And the familiar smell of cigarette smoke
Cloathing his bruised knuckles you used to lovingly hold
But no one is inside to answer
Because you were out there
Thinking that happiness is attached to places
Not to the people who make them happen
Thinking that loneliness is found in between pauses
Of breathing, and of conversations
Of those nasty distractions
You call moving on
What if you owned the pain and stayed still instead?

Swing, Swing

Playing tennis and moving on are one and the same
Tighten your grip
And you lose control
Swing blindly
And you miss your chance
At returning the shot
So you stand up
Own your position
Take a swing backwards
And launch the ricocheting orb
Back to where it came from
Crossing your fingers, albeit hoping
That it doesn’t return
You won’t be mistaken
You’ll know if you’ve done it right
The stance feels right
The contact feels right
Hell, even the popping sound feels right
Still, if you don’t
You’re in luck
Tennis is a repetition
All those mishaps
All those missed shots
All those sore muscles
Prepare you for your next big hit
Just don’t stop playing