DISSIPATE

Detached from the things that are seen I feel and hear my heart like a drum Struck soft in my chest granting me life Springing up like a flower to the sun It knocks at the wall like a child Pounding softly then harder I fear As a vision enters the threshold and The flower falls slow like a tear Endless wasteland – disappear.

Drums in the distance beat softly Inside my chest there is a child in control Sending rhythms that pulsate the wall like Slants of light from the sun through my soul Illuminant mysteries are surrounding Powers that are unseen by my eyes As the dreaded dream - a nightmare it seems Touches the mask of disguise Emptiness filled with what lives and dies.

Dead are the things I have seen In a world where the garden is bare Solemn and bringing no life Seeds from the depths of despair I am the one who went walking out Planting my heart as I went As the drumbeat settles in failure The flowers spring up to repent Ethereal garden and glorious scent.

Copyright © February 1996 Jason S. Moore All rights reserved. "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." -Henry David Thoreau, Walden

(1817-1862)

Tributes

"Let me know how any man thought--and wavered and resolved, succeeded and failed-- I only want to know more of the life of man--of any man." The Journal, undated entry [1842-1844]"

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