I wait for these moments,
when some how I begin,
there isn’t a way to describe
the need for expression to find
an outlet that feels right, feels
just almost like a fine thread
being needled through a canvas,
an artist’s sketch,
a Van Gogh perhaps in the mind
of that person creates the image.
A certain melody,
perhaps a loss, yet somehow new gains,
the world begins to tick again,
stillness no longer impactful.
We need motion,
always to move forward so when upon a step backward,
we might patient in our minds, figure out a new step.
In every night’s twilight,
I can almost get there, oh so close,
so very much next to me, yet just out of reach,
always, beyond my scope, enough to have me question,
why is it I am so compelled to ignore the stars.