written on May 11th while listening to “That Next Place” from “Meet Joe Black”:

When everything is soft
And all the lines are blurred

Like when someone spills water on the calendar and all the ink runs free….

When you don’t know what you feel
Or where your interests end

And alternatives are exactly what you cannot see…

The door of your heart is pushed open and a hand discovers yours.

A silent poem begins to write itself.

When someone becomes a trumpet to your muddled mind and with one breath
blows all that ink back into place,
The vacuous forces are made to rest
And you’ve never felt so new.

If the clarity in your concert hall of a heart echoes this strain of freedom,
you have found that for which everyone else is looking.

Or, more correctly, it found you.


3 responses

  1. šŸ™‚

    May 30, 2011 at 1:45 pm

  2. That is so beautiful! You have a great free-verse style here.

    May 30, 2011 at 5:09 pm

  3. I never actually read this…that is one epic song to write to.
    This was lovely, Grace. šŸ™‚

    August 19, 2011 at 11:31 am

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