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THIS MYSTICAL HEART

Do you know me? Not my worldly names,
merely form, the vessel…I see what others
do not, I feel what others may never touch,
the morning mist surrenders to the subtle sun.
Jumping in and out of existence, the anti-particle
of fear; need is scratching the back of rejection
while some in favour of blindness, preach. I am 
drawn to you the way the shore beckons the sea.
Do you know how many years I wandered the sands
searching for the oasis in time? The flute needs
only wind to make music but what makes it a song? 
Motion is the creative spirit, the harmonic breeze
moves across the openings and flute and sound
are one; a loving connection is why the shaman walks.
A Crown you chose over this pauperism,
tired of the fight; it is in the very struggle that
riches are found. Be like the Prince of Peace
and surrender to the laundry, there is no lifting up
when things are easy only trouble brings out the light.
Of the many lives within this one each death
has brought the sober terms and one by one they die
like the notes of a song, not the whole tune, a part.
Listen for the melody of this mystical heart.
Do you know me? I am the wind.
Be the vulnerable flute and hear with your body.


For White Wolf's contest ~ first poem entered on the Soup (4/07/16)

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