On a clear, cloudless night
the stars illuminate heaven;
infinity fills the air;
existence embraces eternity.
The stars illuminate heaven;
there's order in the chaos;
existence embraces eternity;
light crosses the universe.
There's order in the chaos;
galaxies expand forever;
light crosses the universe;
life forms abound throughout.
Galaxies expand forever;
a never ending cycle;
life forms abound throughout;
various degrees of intelligence.
A never ending cycle
on a clear, cloudless night;
various degrees of intelligence;
infinity fills the air.
(I was commissioned to write this for www.pursuethepassion.com)
Why are passions not pursued?
Because we just aren't in the mood,
or do not think we have the time,
or find the ladder too steep to climb.
There's always something, someone else
to blame for passions on the shelf.
Covered with dust, we watch them die;
there's always a perfect alibi.
A demanding job, long hours, the kids,
the success a part of us forbids.
Just living day to day must do;
to lofty dreams we bid adieu.
We don't think we deserve to dream
yet deep inside our passions scream,
desperate to be set free.
Ideas born in reverie
languish, cob-webbed in our mind.
To failure we've become resigned.
We conform to the status quo,
with no opportunity to grow.
We quietly follow the herd,
our passion and our vision blurred.
Are we simply too damned tired
or are we no longer inspired?
We never broke free from the mold,
no longer reaching for the gold.
Our hopes to one day be fulfilled
have somehow, silently, been killed.
We find success others defined,
our dreams falling further behind.
We're lacking proper motivation
or simply lost the inclination;
postponed dreams to a later date
while silently, we moan, berate
our lack of progress, sitting still.
We feel no joy; there is no thrill.
Our dreams slip slowly from our grasp
not uttering a single gasp.
Taking such a loss for granted,
we forget the seeds once planted.
We have the power to evolve
but lack the strength and the resolve.
There is no adequate excuse.
It is a form of self-abuse
to deny ourselves what we deserve.
Have we only lost our nerve
or has it fallen out of fashion
to actively pursue our passion?
The sun slowly sets below horizon,
whispering for no apparent reason.
Gentle winds chatter between the trees;
mosquitoes hum and buzz of honey bees.
Crickets come out to play their evening song;
cicadas can't resist, they play along.
Conversations increase as darkness falls,
increasingly enhancing nature's calls.
By twilight it's a deafening riot;
just as dawn breaks, it's suddenly quiet.
It's finally here, an entire day
where words will finally have their say.
All my errands will have to wait
while my love of words can celebrate.
The tv's off, the radio too;
the cd I played is finally through.
My son's away until Sunday night;
this Saturday just feels so right.
I'll let the voicemail get all calls
while my sloppy handwriting scrawls
a dozen poems and an essay as well.
The words will flow out of my brain's inkwell.
The cat will curl up by my side,
my heart will pound, my eyes open wide.
Adrenaline will course through my veins
while I saddle my words and pull the reins.
I'll take them out for a long, hard ride
until there's nothing left inside.
I'll start at dawn and finish at dusk;
though after so long I may get brusque.
My muse is ready to come out and play,
here in my writer's hideaway.
The words dare not put up a fight
on this, my day to sit and write.
For all love's passion, it will fade
despite how often one has prayed
for it to last beyond all time;
it withers when just past its prime.
For all love's passion, it will fade.
In giving love a passing grade
forgiving all the games it played
how very difficult the climb.
For all love's passion, it will fade.
We wish forever it had stayed;
the sun burned quickly into shade.
Forgiveness might have solved the crime;
yet shadows now are too sublime.
We failed, despite the best plans laid.
For all love's passion, it will fade.