The Pursuit

5/28/2012

When storm clouds gather around my heart

and rays of sun resolve to depart, 

a staring blankly at the wall

becomes what I see all in all,

and my hands are tied by invisible chains,

and roads without road signs invade my brain,

colors disappear and words melt away,

songs become faint, and what was play? 

Reaching for a well that has become dry, 

holding on to balloons that forgot how to fly, 

things I hold dear and hold high above

like love for myself; life quenched simply by love. 

It’s a treason of sorts, treason unto myself, 

to involuntary ignore such infinite wealth.

Before I lose hope and my own bridges are burned

I remember my hands and pages left to turn.

I open the cage and let the birds free

to wander my heart and adventures to seek. 

Through a pouring out I lift up my cup. 

I find the hidden fountain that fills me back up. 

I’m renewed once again. I can pick up my sword. 

I remember language and what words are for. 

I was never alone, though, I told myself so. 

I don’t like to be alone, but when I am I grow.