Ethereal Mass

Can we ever know
the end of one's vibrations
made audible,
made visible,
made tactile?

Consider a Stradivarius,
or a Steinway,
or a Pavarotti high G,
knowing no end,
only resonance echoing.

Yet…

How easily we try to bury last utterances,
like the cry of a baby's discomfort,
the pain of a homeless wail,
the sob of a relationship ended.

Beyond…

The vibrations continue,
attaching themselves
to awaiting polarized matter,
the cosmos gathering its next creation.

And the next …

And the next …

Such continues,
as experience vibrates
by slaps,
punches,
hugs,
touches,

whispers.

Time nurtures the oscillation of being,
the feeling of passion’s enigmatic breath,
extending the longevity of life’s effort to be gentle.

To pause…

 
Is to heed the senses,

create the chance to step out
to risk one’s nocturnal silence,
where hearing,
knowing,

trusting,

is merely conjoining with the swarm,

the forever that knows no distance.

only the echo of creation’s ethereal mass.