Monday, March 29, 2010

A simple matter of physics.

it began as many things do
with a sharp intake of breath
possibility fluttering about
and the silent, irrational utterance
of cynical language

it began as a notion dodging
through an inner space
packed full of wasted remnants
fickle mysticism, ten o’clock news
and useless constraint

it began with no precise need
for a compass, or a map
for the odometer’s calculated speed
or a thermometer’s
measured heat

it simply began
because every good story
wishes its quintessence
and every action
must be set into motion

2 comments:

  1. I've had written thoughts that went in the same I think the meaning of this poem goes...
    Is it merely because I am reading through the glasses of my experience? Don't know...
    Be that as it may, I feel empathy when I read this.
    I suspect most people who have tried writing of one kind or another would...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Alesa, I never received notification of most of your comments and am just reading this now, almost two years later!

    Yes, empathy...

    I always remember precisely what I was feeling and why at the time I write a poem.

    ReplyDelete