Is it a thing?
A haunted place we inhabited in the in-between
Towards which we now hurtle, heedless of space,
Unconscious of the ripples we fling across the face of the sky, the
Hearts of those around us?
Or is it a mirage,
Borne on a tidal pulse beat, pushed
By adrenaline, our endocrine drives, my
Cell-deep need to create, procreate, thrive, survive?
What calls me, is it the golden-lit island where I am fulfilled, or
Just the siren drawing me off the cliff hills?
If this magnet drawing me will not be denied, if
I am allowed no peace from ambition, no respite from pride,
Then I ask only to rest here,
Out of the water, on the
Quiet shore, where I am not fraught,
Nor sought evermore.