May 31, 2012
You are seasoned hands guiding young fingers on keys.
You are an explosive work of art,
the stroke of brush on canvas.
You are colors painted with fierce thoughts stirring the settled.
You are an empty shelf soon full, then emptied save one jar.
You are water pouring into cupped hands and the sand displacing it.
You are calloused fingers meeting string, releasing tones that fix the broken.
You are the gaze of protective eyes upon a child at play
and the light in the young one’s eyes.
You are the sound of wind rustled blinds before the storm,
the sound of their stillness.
You are the scent of newly cut grass
and the musty smell of aging wood inside a time worn home.
You are the heat of the sun felt by blistered feet on tar.
You are coolness when toes are dipped in a shadowed stream.
You are the taste of sweet red wine and the aroma from the empty bottle.
You are the blink of an eye
and the drawn out linger.
You fill the soul and more than mend the heart.
You are the beginning, the end and all found between.
You are a brutal, exhilarating birth.
You are a graceful, frightening death.
You are each emotion and emotions combined.
You are new emotions never before felt.
You are music.