Arlene Corwin Poetry

     Talk To Yourself

They call it meditation.

Finding the silence, or at least,

A piece of peace.

It, using pictures, often language.

What a tool, this language thing

Born into time’s beginning.

I talk, inevitably landing in

A giving in, words running out.

I question, pray, request, inquire;

All require words, a chat,

And chat can prattle, babble, rattling on,

I even chew the fat.

It all turns into giving in.

We have a nice relationship, I and me.

One reflecting all I need.

You may call it God: That’s good. Importantly,

You should converse with brain

Again, again: a conversation

Heart-to heart. Mentioning

And giving in,

For in the end that’s all there is:

Your message will come forth.

^{Talk To Yourself 12.17.2017 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Corwin}