Since I can't seem to write any of my own (which is probably for the best right now since it would be dark and dark never was favored as much) I'll post one written by my favorite poet, Rumi. I love this one and it feels right for today. I totally get Rumi. His writings are abstract (which is very ME) and they are also quite multifaceted (also very ME).
Who Says Words With My Mouth
All day I think about it,
then at night I say it.
Where did I come from,
and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere,
I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness
began in some other tavern.
When I get back around
to that place,
I'll be completely sober.
Meanwhile, I'm like a bird
from another continent,
sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear
who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste
one sip of an answer,
I could break out
of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord,
and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here
will have to take me home.
This poetry,
I never know
what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet
and rarely speak at all.
