Feel It, Believe It
I pause, each time one brushes by,
by Ayn Timmerman
determining the force of the message,
processing sometimes obscure meanings that
may alter the entire course of events,
leaving me powerless to change.
Line and form dance before me,
with color lending mood to the scene,
objects leap with purpose, attempting
sometimes to impart their reason on me.
Matter constantly streams by, unseen,
but faith and instinct tell you something
is there, that you believe without the
benefit of knowing why the atoms take up space.
Minute particles dock in respectively learned
positions that identify with an object,
also unseen but evoking memory,
hunger pangs for something from your past.
The trick is to go slow, savor it
and not bolt it down thoughtlessly,
and also to be thankful regardless
of the effort it took to make it.
The patter of drops is sad, like the
wind sighing above you, as bells toll
in celebration and life, we are
blessed with the thought of other's thoughts.
From some cranial recesses the flow
of unconscious urgings and spontaneous
convulsions act as a collaboration of the
soul and heart, driving a few towards madness.
Some lust for knowing why we have the
ability to question and wonder, why do we
feel and act, the reason for hope
fear joy sorrow and even, why we
are cursed to express this to the
ones tied down and unknowing,
unenlightened to the reason for everything