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Isolation doesn’t open the door
to metaphor or to beginning—
not that it’s standing fully closed, not yet.
But ego blocks the exit, and spirit
fills up the room like noise fills a city;
it seems too much present, too much light.
Stubborn hermits think they quake in shadow,
but no blue whale appears to swallow them.
They may as well surrender to the call.
And open to vibrant rainbows of sound
waiting only for a few more tones to
rise into their full power and prevail.
Come! The orchestra waits. There is
no audience. Befriend the spirit that
says pick up your instrument and join in.
to metaphor or to beginning—
not that it’s standing fully closed, not yet.
But ego blocks the exit, and spirit
fills up the room like noise fills a city;
it seems too much present, too much light.
Stubborn hermits think they quake in shadow,
but no blue whale appears to swallow them.
They may as well surrender to the call.
And open to vibrant rainbows of sound
waiting only for a few more tones to
rise into their full power and prevail.
Come! The orchestra waits. There is
no audience. Befriend the spirit that
says pick up your instrument and join in.
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
If you quote, credit this page.
© 2020 Susan L. Chast
it seems too much present, too much light ... i love that image.. that beginning is elusive and it has nothing to do with anyone but oneself... that resonates deeply.
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