The Movement

The Movement

I settle down to have another listen;
Something that moves me to tears.
I revel in the glory of inspiration,
My only salvation all these years.

And as they come to the crescendo of it all,
Which is, as always, my favorite word,
I close my eyes to imagine,
The truth of every note that I’ve heard.

I can see myself standing in the garden again
Alone with that cup in my hand,
With the hourglass glued to the table
Slowly, but surely, running out of sand.

These words speak to me like a firebird
Rising from the ashes in the dark of the night
And the movement in me is a force like no other
That sets my own wings at the ready for flight…

About ShySpark

I blog, I garden, I eat cheeseburgers, and sometimes I travel. But mostly I just write poetry...
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