I went away to find myself, no map,

no compass or recollection of what I was

once, what I was failing to be, what I had allowed

to be said without my lips moving,

shut up, lips stitched, lips sewn together

and yet they were moved, like a clever ventriloquist

making a stuffed overweight toy talk;

yet my fluff had started to come apart,

the stitching holding me together

coming apart at the seams…

I went away to get re-stitched,

to get myself back in mental shape,

whatever that reality would be,

and I see the pinprick of hope,

that forty five years in the making,

perhaps the needle was finally

glowing with steel,

the needle, a match for the sword

in your hand.

Ian D. Hall 2016