poetry – Page 96 – Picking Up Roots

Music

the sound is haunting
in its beauty
as it rises and falls,
echoing in the halls 
of the heart,

the soul of this music
fills the cavernous depths
of the spirit,
its emotion tugs at the heart,
demanding it feel;

one haunted voice
rises above the melody
calling the ear to love;
it moves the depths,
filling in the holes 
of the unknown -

it brings life

Becoming More

I am the broken promise
of what might have been
and the desperate hope
of what could still be;

nothing is written
with such permanence
it cannot be altered
by a willingness to change;

the clock continues to count time,
until it stops
there will always be a chance
to become more

Searching

when I am lost
in the triangle of darkness
between who I would be,
who I am,
and who the world 
wants me to be;

can I be saved
by my own philosophy,
incomplete though it may be,
or perhaps it is that
I am yet to open myself
to its understanding;

if I look deeper within -
not past myself,
but through -
will I find my truth,
will I find my soul