Music

I want to write music.
To capture those glimpses of feeling,
Always something not entirely obtainable.
Like a bird you befriend,
Flying in and out at random,
Delighting the senses with its coming--
Feeling the rise and fall in your breast
When it nears and fars--
Ever maintaining its independence.

Not because it does not want to be with you,
But because it was born to fly.

As by its very nature it must leave you,
(and you learn to envy it for that freedom)
So gravity laughs and believes she's triumphed
When the sun slips, and swells, and smolders,
Only to rise again.

She, like thee, belongs to gravity,
But maintains ever constant her dominance--
She lives for her responsibility--
And, in turn, the earth responds to her every movement.

Day in, day out.
Rain, sleet, storm, she burns through them still
Blinding, bonding, searing hot;
And renders you speechless with her awful majesty.

You sit still and ponder them both,
Hugging your knees tight to your chest--
Just breathing, you thank them for their lessons;
Listening, you strain to hear that humming:
That thrumming, thriving, inter-connectedness of all things.
That Music.