Sometimes I think too much
Much too much about some things
In trying to weigh my words
And know what my motives bring.

And sometimes I dissect so hard
Sparing nothing from the scalpel
That each feeling has a dissertation
Not thorough? Hm. Doubtful.

And other times I let things go
Take the value of it’s face
And WHAM! I’m hit with a reality
Not knowing what’s at stake.

You see, sometimes, detailed is a curse
And yes, I know many things in this world are worse
But who can know the rocky-ness that uncertainty drags?
And who will shudder with me now when exact packs its bags?
And what is there to gather from a field awash in snow
When searching, when delving for clues, the response is, “You know.”
‘Not so,’ puffs breath in harshest air, confused on where to look
For unsure are the letters, sounds and meaning of the book.
‘Just yesterday I knew the name, the name this story holds.
Yet now I merely see the dregs as the tale slightly unfolds.’

Sometimes I get so tired
Of being so forthright
Of keeping most my thinks in check
And pining for the night.

Sometimes the things you seldom see
Fight the roughest war in me
And, boy, their struggle has a fee
Upside down thoughts in every tree.

Sometimes I feel so tired
And the tears come, ‘Steady. March.’
And I feel a deepened burning
In a softly burdened heart.

How now, you tell me by piecemeal
The changes you will like
And deftly you turn away
Once again, slide me the knife.