#977 the poem

there is something inside my head
a something with heft
like a rock
but its not a rock
this something surges
like a roaring storm wave
but its not a wave
for it whispers
like a back-up vocals unheard until the hundredth listen
but its not lyrics
for it is more visceral than words
like gregorian chant
but it is not a prayer
for it is clear
as clear as a bluebird day
but it is not a bluebird day
for it is angry
angry like a panicked mother who just found her runaway son
but it is not a mother
for it does not love me and wants to separate itself from my head
like a tuft of hair from my barber's clippers
but it is not hair
for this something has heft