Inner Wealth’s Intermissions

So many sizes.
So many types.
Horns ala Miles.
Baton ala Dudamel.
Curtain ala O'Neill.
Blackout ala Alvin Ailey.

Walk-throughs.
The Met.
MOMA.
Guggenheim.
Whitney.

Then the ache.
Actors Studio.
Steppenwolf.
Goodman.
Oregon Shakespeare.
So many regional agonies.

And the silver screen,
Ever infrequent unique cinema clinging
Amidst movie movies.

Forget not the most vulnerable,
Literature.
Let us respect even permanent breaks;
Wallace,
Hemingway
Woolf.

And lest we forget Nature,
The mother of life's subtle intervals,
Ever cycling its wisdom,
Seeking our theatre's darkness.

Intermissions

Life knows of pause,
But often waits for us
To squander its use.

While

For those drinking of contaminated quench,
Art remains relegated as
Nectar of Gods forsaken,
Yet for those of pure thirst,
Avoiding such sustenance,
Renders imaginative spirit dead.

Curious to call the above examples intermissions,
Yet without the pause,
We might remain vulnerable,
Overwhelmed by necessity,

Allowing reflections expressed

To impact our senses

Our thinking

Our feeling

Harshly.

Yet

Might it be
Without some breaks in life’s drama,

Time to consider identity,

Space to explore new doorways

Giving intermissions to our inner wealth,
Reality remains forever just…

Someone else’s reality,

Creating a superfluous existence

To dominate our inner wealth?