A word, a phrase, a stanza: birth -
A poem is being born.
Arching out from heavens of the heart
from one image, tone of harmony,
that purely taken in, must come to be
its own totality.
Tiny as a grain of sand, or huge
as vast horizons spanning distance;
in the end, each living particle
will find its way to words
that must be spoken.
Then the known and the unspeakable,
grasping as a lonely heart prepares to die,
become reborn again within a sigh;
and then again, within a chance,
a glance, a spark of light that reaches out -
touching there – pristine and utter beauty
in a single drop of rain upon
a silent window pane.
And there, a flower blooms
so serenely into scent and sight;
a touch of satin softness if we dare
to reach and find the innocence
in its embrace; or there, the towering tree
that sways in rhythmic grace
to a celestial harmony – when will we
live the wisdom of its chant?
Images and fables, ornaments and tables,
wondrously enhanced within
a curvature of glance, soul reaching out
through eyes now meant to see
the beauty in each thread spun in
Shall we take it in then, endlessly,
until we overflow with its great presence?
Grasping till we burst within its
mighty shifting tides – these moments
of experience so utterly adrift within
the air of all emotion.
And so the day must come, you see,
that feeling deeply all we breathe,
a note, a tone of utterance, breaks out
and through the bounds and bonds
of what we thought we used to be.
A word, a phrase, a stanza – birth
another poet born.
How is it one, so small as me,
encompasses it all...?
? Michaelette ?