Traveling Within

by Daniel Wilcox

Allegedly, I’m bipolar
               but I spend all my days dream-widened by the
                              center-meridian at the equator,
               jungled warm in the lush verdancy.
 
Super-sized with earnest emotion,
               my every thought and act
                              floods with fervent intensity;
               compassion sunburns my inner skin.

No arctic cold hardens this human clay,
               no iceberg of a harsh snowy brow,
                              neither frozen north or south within.

I weep shards of scalding pain.
 

The endless sweat of warm mercy wellsprings
               in this tropical brain;
                              though I may not be lateral,
 
My temperament’s compass directs

               me sweltering true east toward the Son.