To where will I be led?
The words that pop in my head
seem to arrive from outer space.
At times, they’re in a race,
finding their way onto my page
and, whether personal or sage,
longing to be seen and, better, heard.
There’s far much more to a word
than just the meaning we assign.
A lyric phrase is more than a line.
Each passage amplifies a sound:
frequently soft, at times, profound.
Vibration reaches to our core;
its echo lasts ’til we are sure
of what it is we need to know.
A single word can often show
an aching heart that love is there,
a wounded child that others care.
It’s not my job to understand
the how and why of where they land,
just what they do,
or when or who
will heed the call
the moment they fall
into the minds and hearts of none
or five or ten or a thousand and one.
It’s only asked of me to receive —
to open wide and trust I’ll perceive
what Spirit wants me to transcribe.
The words and rhythm form the vibe
that lands not only on my page,
but pierces veils to then engage
the heads and hearts of like-minded souls
so all of us can play our roles.
I am not the well of Truth,
nor am I a mortal sleuth
who digs for clues in hope of solving
what’s behind this world that’s revolving
’round the ever-beaming sun.
And I’m not what I have done.
I am simply a receiver,
one of many a believer
in the healing power of a rhythmic verse —
a soul in service to the Universe.
I am given seeds to sow;
the rest is not for me to know.