The Form of Sound

I strive continually

For some sort of balance

Always falling one way or the other

I understand that this is the nature of balance

But it seems too far to mee

Perhaps I am being too hard on myself

But I do not think so

Perhaps I am simply insane

This is possible

But it does not solve my problem

It only provides me with a convenient excuse

I can almost taste the cure

Almost see the vision of my path to a joyful life of meaning

In the silence within me

I can see a light

I know it is that fabled spark that must be stoked and tended

Within my heart I can feel something struggling to bloom

To grow

The child within that is myself

I know the mysteries of the stars

I have seen the glory of creation

Cast in all its dazzling splendor

I have felt the pulse of life within my veins

And understood

And yet I am lost

The sweet, clear cure turns bitter and ashen in my mouth

The spark flares and then dies cold

The flower begins to bloom and quickly clamps closed again

The child begins to sing and dance

But stops and curls in to a painful ball

That breaks my heart and steals my joy

How can a man live such a life

And function day to day

In a world that values only the mundane

The mystic is a stranger indeed

Let me play my drum

Photos, Poetry jim spaulding, photography, poem, poetry