A rousing inspiration, or
A peaceful repose?

The bugle at start of battle, or
The lyre at calm evening's close?

The mother of joy, or
The child of pain?

Only seen in sunshine, or
Only felt in rain?

To acquire and possess, or
Ephemeral, a lifetime's pursuit?

Perhaps 'tis sight to the blind.
Perhaps 'tis voice of the mute.

Demons of my past come and throng
My mind; query me of dreams forlorn:
“Isn't dwelling on redemption for the strong?”
But, I am a leaf on a rambunctious river, I reply,
My purpose is forever to be moving on.

Swept by wild winds off my grip on the tree,
Splash! Fallen! pressed on to the edge of me.
Flowing by, flowers and thorns, since I begun,
And though the current often swept me under,
I've always re-surfaced to look upon the Sun.

“But, life off the tree lacks meaning, dead wrong!”
“You may get swept to the wide open sea,
Or you might get struck in a forgotten billabong.”
Yes! Though perilous the Jungle may be
to the lone. I am still alive, and finally, forever me.

I wish I were her tear drop; to
Caress her face when she, is blue.
Wash the pane of her soul, and view
In her reflection, her beauty imbue.

I fall in her sight; though I try
To hang on her lips, they deny.
Unto the dirt, on my knees; still I vie,
For in love I've fallen; my home, her eye.

I wish they would see me; genuflect
and before she trod over me; reflect.