I need to get back into that certain swing, don't you think?
Here's some poetry.
What We're Made Of
I found myself wondering this morning
And last night in particular
What we're all made of.
There's oil and water,
Dirt and grime,
Rag and bone,
And instinct all wrapped up in us.
But we've got thought and we like to use it too.
And here's something a little less known;
The warm sense of beach sand against our toes,
The cool breeze of winter upon our cheeks,
A greater sense of knowing that we just can't place,
Something soothing and calming and understanding all at once.
Some might call it being at peace
But I call it being beside Peace
Because we're not exactly a peaceful species.
Perhaps the most interesting part
Is that one particular spark;
Like the web of constellations in us,
Spider webbed through our toes,
The toes of dancers that curl and know the feeling
Of a matted floor or a wooden high beam,
Or the fingers of a writer
That love the curve of a pen meant to fit
Or the click of a keyboard.
That twinge in our nose hairs at the
Or the warm feeling
In the after glow
Where she's rubbing your back
And you're both smiling
At one another
Like nothing ever happened
And you're just 'Happy to be here, folks'.
And every once in a while
A couple of little transistors
Up in that head of ours
Go off in just the right sequence
And we feel happy,
Or At Peace,
And it's all leading
To one grand thought
Blooming like a rose
In the middle of fall.
Odd, but not entirely out of place.
We've all got that spark:
A little light of brilliance
That puts even sunrise to shame.