Saturday, October 6, 2012
The recipe is many, too few the reasons to remain still
There is what I know, what I've done, and where I've gone.
That mixture I crafted, is subcutaneous now.
Sheer joy to have thrown a smooth pebble into such an abyss
And here, now... feel the ripples vibrating through me.
I left my skin there, breaking the silence between the indifference and my need.
Those grounds knew, steps touched down with feeling,
Soft was that pledge that filtered down from my mind
Passing down through my chest, my core pumped a keen beat
And the smooth relax imbued my dense existence.
I billowed down further, taking in with my eyes, a land that said, 'Yes'
I chose carefully during that time, chords that would articulate
The wise flow of the wind, that Southwest hue is aged-
Perfect in every single way I could've imagined.
Perfect enough to demand a vibrant atelier, active at all times;
Alive, organic, implicitly serene, the mental pill that never expires.
There is perspiration now, dripped inward, moisture building inside
Within the delicate, confident trust that I have placed upon my senses.
To return. To that place. To that hour. To that moment when my mind became one...
No single soul to touch down in that ecstasy, where hands whisper secrets to be carried away
On winds that blow far, aromatic and mist-filled, returning every Summer
The detailed conscience takes leave, walking away from all I held in vain
The monsoon at noon promised me purpose, placing a native diary into my weary palm.
Where I wrote all I should, to be free of clutter, smog and black smoke.
Warm pavement, wet and barefoot. Russian sage. There was music in the clouds
That welcomed me further, begging of company that understood its wordless caress.
I am changed for the better, from a time when in a broken state- reasoning remained.
The intuition that lie dormant when my way had to be earned, pumped softly, quietly,
Just enough to entice my need for continued liberty to float near, as an incandescent muse.
The wind will boast if you rise to its challenge
Freedom is a perspective that will lock itself away
If autonomy is abused.
Time has leapt me forward, into a new day and away from those woods
Away from a time that taught me of inner being, catering to gentility and coveting quiet strength.
My path is new: different, sturdy. Built and with intention, motives: well-oiled and ready
I am direct and multitudinous in the management of my thoughts, duty pioneering the hour
Locked away safely is that time that craves rest, hibernating and recovering
Wisdom, the effective masseuse employed to endanger nothing about the light that has been widening
Age adds color, depth, character. White hair, longer evenings, deeper dreams
Life is precious and to remain provocative to this energy of thought
Challenge must be taunting and goading our nerve.
I study everything I ponder, I examine time-
In earnest pursuit of self-discovery
Through words, sound, and quiver
For a bow is gentle, strong
This one last arrow is owned-
To myself, to my life,