in chromatic counterpoint
for communication, connection
as tears from heaven
softly anoint the wounded
sacred Soil
finally
it is still
and quiet
and Peaceful
around me
which amplifies
the raging ruminating
within me
what has happened
to my faculties
for focus?
my attention darts
every which way
all at once
not like a bee
bouncing
from flower to flower
searching for sustenance
navigating for nectar
but bouncing
all the same
not knowing what
i'm searching for
or bouncing
(or bounding) towards
my heart is an aching
fractured acorn
(nearly fossilized)
with fragments straining
to stay connected
held by fibers strained
and fraying
almost beyond repair
pieces pulled too powerfully
in disparate directions
entropic forces of faith
and family
and future
and feelings
and frustrations
and fantasies
and futilities
and finalities
and fondness
and fineness
and finesse
so many friggin'
'f' words
all blurred
into a melee
of Mystery
and madness
and bird
songs longing
to be played
and steps waiting
to be made
and stones needing
to be laid
and scenes waiting
to be displayed
and Spirits saying
'be not afraid'
and fibers
not completely frayed
enough remains
to be remade
in harmonic counterpoint
for restoration, reconnection,
revelation of Love
(15 May 2019)
('Chromatic Water Theory I: Percussion' © Matt Beard)
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