The exhaustion of fullness

I looked this way and that, in hopes of seeing what to do next.
There were things to do everywhere I looked,
but none of them said “Do me first!”
and all of them said “Do me first!”
and I couldn’t choose.

They all looked important; they all looked meaningless.
And most of all, I was looking for meaning.
Which could I do and have it mean something?
All of them. None of them.

You see my conundrum, or more likely, you don’t.
I mean that sincerely,
or more likely, I don’t.
I posture and preen and present to be seen,
but nobody sees, especially not me.

I’m ready for my closeup,
but Mr. DeMille died so long ago,
leaving — just leaving.

And now what?
Do I sail a stream of consciousness to distant foreign shores?
or sing specific songs and weave specific tales?
Wax poetic or gritty realism?
Deranged philosophy or sane assessment?
Or abandon the words, scream a primal scream,
and race down the hallway to another life entirely?
No words? Why not?
I have no words anyway. That would be more honest.

(Observe, Earthlings, the rants of a melancholy baby
upon growing up to find he has been a child all this time
acting like what he imagines a grownup is supposed to be.
But then —)

I am a child.
I am — a — can it really be?
Hand me a stone so I can skip it across the water!
Show me the soil so I can push it about with my hands!
Is that a toy truck? Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!

I see it now, I see it clearly,
let me splash in the lake and run along the beach.
I am! I really am!

But I tire so quickly — but it’s a good tired.
I am exhausted, but it’s the exhaustion of fullness.
Finally, finally, singing songs of fulfillment and
writing meaningless poems full of meaning.
I explode, and
my debris rains across the land like confetti.

Here, in the waning sunlight,
I sob with unrequited joy
and rest with anticipation of tomorrow’s games.

Published by WarrenBluhm

Wordsmith and podcaster, Warren is a reporter, editor and storyteller who lives near the shores of Green Bay with his wife, two golden retrievers, Dejah and Summer, and Blackberry, an insistent cat. Author of It's Going to Be All Right, Echoes of Freedom Past, Full, Refuse to be Afraid, Gladness is Infectious, 24 flashes, How to Play a Blue Guitar, Myke Phoenix: The Complete Novelettes, A Bridge at Crossroads, The Imaginary Bomb, A Scream of Consciousness, and The Imaginary Revolution.

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