As latent potential erodes, your beauty housed in forgotten containers,
the violin without the bow, the harp without the strings,
you’ve stopped yearning.
When your name no longer gets written in dusty chalk on the blackboard
but caught in the foamy ridges of someone elses’ brush,
you’ve stopped befriending.
To get lost no more side by side with immature friends
crashing through the forest in less than suitable attire,
you’ve forgotten irrationality.
When your daily adventures look less like indentured servitude
and more like poetic phrases and the gentle turning of notes,
you’ve started seeing.
2 thoughts on “Lessons”
Wow. I like the indentured servanthood turning into poetry and music – enlightenment indeed!
Thanks, Melody. Reading these Pacific Northwest poets has been a treat. Frustrating at times when I feel like they’re just treating their journal entries as poetry. But very enlightening and inspiring for poetry writing.