The Apples in My Orchard

Intensity, hard to live with

even harder for others to understand.

Thoughts consume as they are ruminated

and then spit out like cud

only to be left on the floor

without being digested.

Never the same.

Never understood.

Useful?

No, not really.

Unrelatable?

Yes, for most.

Untenable?

So, I am told.

When a passion

overrides rational

thought and action

making one

unattractively incomprehensible.

Why? They ask.

I do not know,

You reply.

Compulsion?

Commitment?

 Almost comedic,

in a sad sort of way.

Intensity, I live with you

so I need to find a way to

not let you alienate others,

as it seems I am not able

to pack you away

for all time,

even for my own good.

But, now I know I must.

Unhealthy pondering returns,

borne of  incomplete tasks,

propelled by desire to do what is Fair and Just.

Persisting at a calling I am not paid to perform.

Causing sleepless nights from swirling muses who force

me to ride a long board of words and phrases, speeding

together to form a ramp of sentences and paragraphs,

only to fall off the pipe at the end.

 

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