Wednesday, December 31, 2014

to write the song.....


I sense it,

   treading lightly,

      poised on toes of dust.

Shadowed fingers
      reaching for my shoulder.

A charcoal sketch,

Sentient.

It is memory.

A squeeze, a pinch, a caress.

There to remind me, that all life

                                       is a ticking clock.

And each tick

A still life,

A memory.

a spirit rose, and it is mine.

…and through that looking glass,
       Through that tunnel,
And through that fear
 And doubt,
       a spirit arose.
And it was mine.
Around me wove it’s surety
  Surround me,  lift me up
          it did.
And from this fear, this doubt
          came a rising up.
Around, it swirled
                     until I saw
and knew.
That I would rise, and I would live
                                         And seek.
And tomorrow is no longer a future thing,
    But instead it is today.
Today.
   and I have opened the door,
               and I have stepped over the threshold.
I am here.