11:11 on 222

I’m listening for the angelic choir
in this particular month, ears on fire,
eyes sparking, a live wire. My new voice sings.
A crystal, I oscillate between swings

over chaotic choices. I reach out.
My ancient cousin says, have you run out,
with a certain glee, lonely, sitting high
atop a stash he’ll surely need in the sky.

Behind every rebuff I see how
my new being is mistaken. I bow
under the weight as I awaken, shed
possessions and limitations. Ahead

of the wave, I ride. My hesitations
old programs, filtered perceptions I’ve saved
in ignorance. How this world I create
propels me past my comfort zone. No wait.

Inspired by: Particular, Oscillate, Month and Rebuff.