Silent Echo

How tumultuous the hidden vibration,

The wave of reality causing the heart

To tremble with sinuous causality,

Speeding up oscillation

From the milder timpani sound,

To the bass drum’s bravado,

To the Djembe drum of primitive pulsating fear.

Love knows not a boundary,

Yet places itself in vulnerable positions,

Starting out as a movement of one’s aura

Reaching out for purchase,

Usually a determined effort in vain,

Finding instead a parasitology of intimacy,

Arresting any new innocent ploy

To add love’s joy to a distressed heart,

Foisting a diadem of horny spikes as armor.

But oh…

How soothing the tremolo of success,

The moment a mote of confinement

Is crossed with unbridled determination,

When the web-like works of life’s streams of consciousness

Arrives by invite and open arms

Of a connection where,

Be it the watering of a flower,

The tilling of one’s garden,

Or the harvesting time of one’s nurture,

The pulsation of a rhythmic resonance

Opens its entrance…

That place where the joy of love made known

Finds the silent echo of safety’s cradle,

Where the consoling silent echo ripples gently

Like the breeze of a morning sunrise

Across one's lake of peace.