February 15, 2014

Let It Go

Let it go I say! I can't, I can't. I fight.

Something delicate and sweet at my finger tips, on the tip of my tongue, in a whispered word something soft spoken, a poem, a rhyme, a saying about time. How far do I travel, how far should I roam, do I reach out and pluck it, or snatch it from thin air? Do I travel the highways and byways, do I stray from home? How far do I search, how far until I'm lost, how far do I roam?

Someone soft and beautiful I see. Can't be me, it’s someone far, far away, over land and into the sea. It’s fragile, a petal, a snow flake, a bird's song. Soft as a baby's touch, I border disbelief; thoughts fail me now.....I’m almost there, almost there. I can't fight the intricate softness of the sounds of the nightingale, or the touch of your hair. Feelings become a plural word, defines Who.  We.  Are.  Do we exist if the absence of feelings? How many words define me as complete, whole, or falling asleep with the word love written upon my lips; a three dimensional word, clutched between two hands?  Hear it...see it...feel it beat, taste these feelings...no physical explanation for being filled... full…Bursting…Breaking…Drinking to fullness

Soda…Beer…Champagne bubbles, bubbling over; effervescent foam tipped with tears, falling empty, hollow, without feelings.  I wonder do you stop feeling when you run out of tears.  I wonder who I am, some days, some days I'm full, some days I'm empty, flat.  What causes meanderings and fluctuations? - Or just lumpy clam chowder this week? I think it’s time to sleep. 

Dreams of broken pieces gone sailing across the universe: fragments, filaments, anchoring time, the compendium of life.  Vibrations!  Can you hear them?  Can you feel them?  Worlds collide!  Tears - A river, a breach in the bank, a hurt, an ache in the heart.  Let it go, let it go, let it go to the shore.  Let it go no more into your eyes. 

She enters the path, a long winding path; the gate is open at the end of the path.  She runs to the stream, a long winding stream, the stream is cold, but she crosses the stream.  A field of blooms, wide open with blooms; walk ahead, walk ahead, step gently through the blooms - One step at a time, one quiet movement through time. Don’t wake the frogs and the birds; the sleeping day is captured in time.

No comments:

Post a Comment