Tuesday, October 4, 2022
HomePoetryStay for the Fireworks

Stay for the Fireworks

And while it’s true

that knowledge of self is

required before you can

love, truly love, you must

also have a healthy

faith in the unknown,

an appreciation for

the wind that blows

from you know not where,

that stirs the sea and

leads it to strange shores

where you may never see

the sky in the blue that

used to be so familiar

you thought it universal.

 

The silences, as much a part

of the music you so love

as the notes, as needful

of mastery, of audience,

the truths yet to be

discovered, with which

a spirit in harmony with

its own unfolding story

needs no prior encounter

to call itself prepared

to form a lasting covenant,

the setting of a movie

that provides more

than a backdrop,

more than a vessel

for things to happen in,

but acts as a character

of sorts in the plot,

with caprices and charms

and can, in turns

be friend, then foe,

then a mere face in the crowd

you pass somewhere

in busy downtown,

 

all the roads you’ve never walked,

all the winters that didn’t fall,

the stones you left unturned,

the what ifs and changes of heart,

and the voices of chance

both listened to and defied,

 

are in your hands,

pieces of the same puzzle.

And the knowing of self

breathes in the pauses where

more beauty is possible.

Embracing the not knowing

is part of it.

So is kissing your fears.

So is trusting the part

of you that’s been wrong

so many times before.

 

To Arrive, To Occupy

The way your heart treasures the light

The way your heart treasures the light

that almost blinded you,

that burned away instead

the cataracts, the sense of smallness

towards which your biases were leaning,

electrified the fences around your comfort zone

and left you with so much less

than what you had when you started

that you could hate it,

but to your credit you looked the other way

and saw a finally unobstructed view

of how you could find your way nonetheless,

 

the way you could hold the sword

that was forged to destroy you

while assuming to give dignity to your undoing,

hold it with the utmost reverence

and match the perfect edge of the blade

with the iron butterfly grace in your soul

that has received enough blows

another cut could only work in your favor

and render you less damaged

 

the way the sun exposes

the valleys where

the sadness hides

like paper shadows

 

you’ve asked the stillness

where your song fits,

 

and this is its answer.

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