I rejoice in authentic voice just heard,
but beware, by tomorrow
only rough approximity may apply

Clarion sound could be crisp and perfect
undeniable truth grasped, never challenged nor in doubt
could become klaxon cacaphony, a broken bell clanging
clamor rather than sweet surrender's song

May be freely sung, in unmitigated flow
from mason jars of emotional reserve,
spilt by the day's dramas of those impacting you,
by their own raw responses and revealings,

Thus exposed, I ply ominous oceans, always threatening to turtle,
perchance to lie dashed upon razor rocks of Siren
At best drop mainsail, glide into harbor of seclusion
to allow calm's seeping return, alone once again

Could be that..
this music you make

Could be an island of volcanic rock
emotions of a moment erupted
hardened into lifelong devotion
still growing with fresh hot lava
and fertile for green growth

Could be a melody sung anew,
fresh hope and life blossom bright,
an unfolding flood of petals of soft feeling
pastel passions morphing into sturdy structure
something growing steadily
once soft seedling is planted

Carney go to Tom's home page Poems Index

Sign Guestbook View Guestbook
Feel free to e-mail me:
© 2003/2004 trcoleman.geo@yahoo.com