It’s been a long time since something could move me to a place of drifting so deep in art
That the hemoglobin in my veins take a back seat to this feeling
This place that I drift in
wraps itself around me like a strait jacket
Long enough for me to stop fighting and just exist in one with where I am
It envelopes me long enough for me to realize that it’s familiar
I belong here
Justified in the brilliance of notes on staff, I intrude in on the conductor
I am a part of the music, the missing element in the symphony
I have become less of the rest and more of the stem on an eighth note
In conjunction with breathing
The music creating a stir in my vocal chords, lost in the beauty of sound
I speak words in tune, not quite singing yet
Some would call it poetry
It’s just the language I speak.
Hope that someone can interpret for the commoners
Or those common to English. This doesn’t have restrictions and rules
It just is.
I just am.
Present in this moment that I am breathing music. I am being music.
The melodic state of being.
Then something hits me.
It is the evolution of a key change. A game changer.
Love can make minor chord clashes seem like symbols
Staccato glitter sprinkled among the staff like the beauty of shattered glass
Reflecting amber light from dawn
It’s a beginning.
Love can color music and paint pictures that even those with untrained eyes can see
Defying logic, love even makes science bearable.
Unapologetic and without permission, it invades space and time
Love is a continuum of life
Opposite of existing, it springs to, in and through all who are willing
For the unable, it disables their ability to analyze until it is acknowledged
This place is familiar because I was created here.
I create here
He who makes beautiful things out of us purposed me for this place
No seatbelts or safety precautions
No limitations of negotiation necessary
I have fallen with no need to feel the foundation of someone else’s ground
I can forever drift here
I can exist here
I can cast my ballot for permanent citizenship in a place where colors burst
From executed staffs that govern many instruments
On the canvas of my eyes and glitters sparkles over the dash
The pace between birth and return
Special love and adoration sent to a friend whose notes won’t leave my head and the short story “I Wish I Was a Poet” by the late and great Alice Childress.