Monday, August 23, 2010

All of Everything

When I play
I won't just hear the keys
As they rap against strings
I'll feel the missing ivories
Of B and Treble D
I'll sense the tremble of the sound
On the palms of my hand
Sneeze from the dust of the
Old instrument
And smell its wood oil
Its decay

When I walk outside
I won't just see the blue sky
Or hear the sound of cars on the highway
I'll feel the wind in my ears
The drip of sweat down my neck
My back
Smell the dew, the perspiration
The green of grass and
Bloom of summer flowers
Taste the lip gloss
The warm water bottle
And hear my own breathing.

I won't just see the words
The black letters on a white screen
The rows, paragraphs, sentences
In stark ugliness and form
I'll feel the journey
Sense the movement through time and space
Kiss each character
With pain, harm, evil, good
And mold him into something
More real than he is now
I'll grow the trees
Get drenched with rain
Wade through streams
And hide, seek, run, dream.

Life isn't limited
Isn't only one element
Isn't one sense, one emotion
It isn't television

It's everything.


  1. Is everything—anything?

    Nice work.

  2. I really relate to that poem. Thanks for sharing it with us.

  3. Waddya mean life isn't television? Ain't you seen any of the wives of wherever shows or sstuff like that?