It Is...

2010-07-01T10:52:00.000-07:00

It is waking up as the sun gleams through my venetian blinds, tickling my cheek;
It is hoping that everything is as it seems, but knowing and accepting its ambiguity;
It is my obsession with the unknown, my fire within that drives me.

It is being content with that which I possess and being even more without that which I once sought;
It is my pursuit for the answers to the questions that plague my thoughts;
It is joy, it is sorrow, it is the wondrous ability to feel.

It is much greater than I, it stands tall and lean;
It is my impatience with where I am and my fixation on where I want to be;
It is ravenously wild and unleashed, it is free.

It is time in retrospect that generates regrets,
But it is time remembered, and therefore time well spent;
It is my fascination with what is real and my intrigue for what could be that moves me.

It is the sound of a record after one thousand plays;
It is mysterious, incognito, but it knows me by name;
It is like a siren song that lures me and captures my heavy heart.

It is a salt-stained tear running down my neck;
It is breathing in, every day, a soft cinnamon scent;
It is the little things - more precious than not.

It is a wound, cut deep, that never heals;
It is the mask that I wear to remedy secrets revealed;
It is the certainty of mortality challenged by the ideal of eternity that lifts me.

It is a frivolous hello and a neglected good-bye;
It is the desire to penetrate saddened eyes;
It is man's incandescent struggle between good and evil that tames me.

It is everything that keeps me here:
My life, my dreams, my ideals.
And I smile, not for His regards, but because He is real.

© 2003

Janelle Monique - Beneath The Surface

It Is...