I was never insensible at all.
Though long I’d known,
as of yet, I’d learnt nothing.
Dissolve as I may,
I remain resolute.
But who am I at all?
To state the obvious
about me, there’s nothing stately.
Don’t you see?
To be at peace in decadence
is a decree: to remain replete
is enough for me.
But what of being free?
I retain my plea;
it rings corporeally.
The drumming remains
surreal in the ears of the unlearned.
To listen is to be heard.
The answers you seek aren’t learned.
Through a life of earnest,
They are earned
or unearthed.
Now you’re starting to get it:
somewhere along the way,
between
indigo and violet,
I may succumb to lavender mist.
but nothing's amiss
I haste to escape
this panopticon,
to exist unmoored.
These accords
were in motion
long before
we’d ever charted a course.
In my palms, oases form,
a soul cleft from flesh
may not soar.
Although,
you’ll see me
surely.
I’ve compromised
to comprise
the bespeckled canopy.
Somewhere
along the way
between indigo
and violet, I became
the lavender I’d missed.
