Friday, December 11, 2020

A Fire In The Head

 by Dean Solon

words are empty.
we infuse them with grace
and with grit.
they have no home
but what we give them.

i consider this,
i contemplate this.
what arises 
is grace,
an experience of who i was
before i was born
into this strange and awkward world.

when i was born,
i came into a light that welcomed me
as another stranger 
in a strange land.
my eyes opened to a terrain
brand new
and oddly familiar,
a land that breathed life
into my recently formed lungs.

i was born to be here,
blown by the winds of seeming chance
that have transfigured as i have grown older
to be something else:
an essence,
a vitality of living matter
infused with purpose and passion
to be an originality of form
and to be a singularity of spirit,
one soul among billions
teeming, streaming
on the planet.

i remember no other home 
but this one we call earth.
yet here I am
wondering out loud:
what brought me to this galaxy,
what took hold of me
to bring me here
and make these footprints 
in these sands of time and place

No comments:

Post a Comment