We can dance, we might stumble,

yet there lives a cadence

in wait, ready, willing,

like a slow beating drum,

a pleasant sort of rhythm,

gradual in balance,

suggestive of another way.

~

While alone we measure

the winds, their sleek posture

call upon our twilight

in soft melody,

perhaps some might

say too soon, I don’t want to …

suggestive of another way.

~

We battle further, diving deep

inside a cavernous haunt,

the sort of place

we dream about

waking only hours later,

with a certain chill,

suggestive of another way.

~

When we’re ready,

there is a louder drum,

screams a pleasant fury,

we might let go of

a patterned destruction.

We can embrace discovery

suggestive of another way.

~

Much like the insidious nature,

of addiction and its perils,

we too, begin to believe

we can overcome this one as well,

until after bleeding fingernails,

our knuckles raw, we tease peace,

suggestive of another way.

~

Would that we might know future past

winding roads would we daily weave.

Transformation is Real