Balance

The smallest of details can trigger the most deep philosophical thoughts.

I can't even explain where these
words come from, nor these emotions that seem
rooted deep within the crystallized
fog of hesitation.
A slight bruise on the head, painful to the touch.
Another futile reminder of displaced frustration
so destructive and familiar.
I keep saying that I'll banish it forever
and I'm closer now.
But the familiar can never truly fade and the
balance can't be maintained
for long. This is a cyclic dream, surreal and pure,
swift to merit my embrace and slow to accept progression.
This perpetual vacillation
shall continue for as long as I rely on the chaotic
beat of my heart.
It keeps reality guessing.
It opens my soul to acceptance.
It helps me to understand the tiny fraction of space
between doubt and belief, and every portion of truth
inside the two extremes.
I've felt the stillness of balance, momentarily, and
it may return someday.
But I'll resist it.
We always do.