No Problem

Lips rehearsed to reply the standard rote response

as if words alone can convey

what bubbles in the heart with scalding swirls

stretches the mind to the precipice

where a single second in variance

might suddenly inspire a volatile eruption.

 

It is the eyes that betray the secret storm

buried beneath what is spoken,

their gaze can shine with a light

that hints to fire or gold inside.

 

What grips in tension

is when that phrase spoken

of suppose serene stability

comes from a spirit with hurricane history

who speak in soft assuring tone

how some wound didn’t really cause pain.

 

Only the time bomb is moving inside

and you can’t hear the ticks

because the voice said all was no problem,

which merely mirrored what was expected.

 

To dwell around the minds of suppressed sensation

is like walking through a mine field,

never know when you’ll step on someone’s trigger

because they keep them so well hidden.