The Inner Being

Pulses, All over me like subtle brushes, On my skin when cold wind passes, Awakening; touching on every nerve, Throbs and vibrations that seem to serve, As mere pointers to a deep and Inner cry, Of a soul in torment without a reason why, So I’m soul searching, Inwardly journeying, Perceiving things through my mind’s eye, Sifting through the truths and lies, Embracing the real and discarding disguises, Taking time to listen in on where my heart is, And learning to move when the feeling’s right, When the beat seems familiar like a thief to night. ©Ernest Mburu