Place of Refuge

Place of Refuge

21 September 2011

The Gniggling Gnat


There is a gnat in my brain.
It's a gniggling gnat
plays on the borders of language --
it lays its eggs
there on the threshold between the
                        good and bad, between
                             woman and man, between
                            black and white, between
friend and enemy.

Sometimes, in the gniggling gnat's gnaggling gnoogling
they produce eggs
                                                                 on the wrong side of the right, and
the offspring tries to convince me that
what is wrong is actually right,
what is bad is actually good,
what is white, is actually black,
what is love, is actually hate,
what is female, is actually male . . . 

It tries to turn me against
Me and destroy
all the positive accomplishments
I've gained.

And then I would like to squash it.


But the irony is:
if I squash
my gniggling gnat,
I'll destroy myself


My gniggling gnat
keeps me on task; 
keeps me alert; and it
and I love and hate
all the same, because
it lives there
on the borders of language,
at the place where
love and hate meet, and it
reminds me that both
are one
and capable of living in harmony.

~ ~ 
The gniggling gnat is like the rod in the piston,
like the water in the wheel, like
the combustion in the engine,
like the wind in my hair.

. . . . and I'll go to my 
the spirit I have inside me,
this gniggling spirt,
that gnaggling spirit,
that spirit so capable

of love.


Debra She Who Seeks said...

Great poem!

laurak@forestwalkart said...

that's really great!!
now...i must go read it again...

Makropoulos said...

Thank you, so much! Glad you both like it!