Percussion


The grit of metaphor grinds slowly,
chafing the brain until words emerge,
runaway horses on the plains of pages,
hooves pounding sentiments, grafting
meaning onto senselessness resulting,
it is hoped, in broadening context
for eyes to behold, reversing imprints
from the retina, both sides of the story
or facets of the spinning mirror ball
that is existence.

 

charcoal pastel: Alison Johnson

15 thoughts on “Percussion

  1. Beautiful words dear Bela as is your excellent drawing.. I have been reining in of late, steadying the gallop, to an easy trot. And have found peace among the meadows of my mind..
    Sending love and hugs my dear friend, and thank you for your wonderful support and love you send.. xx ❀

    1. That drawing was done by my daughter when she was in middle school. Trot, yes. We must pace ourselves for the long haul, for sure. Glad you’re discovering some peace in the spaces between strides, dear one. Aloha .<3

    1. Yes BN, I can relate. Because I am picky however, I delay publishing until the metaphor is just right. The original idea may leap lightly to mind, but sometimes it takes a bit of revisiting now and again for just the right spark to breathe it fully into collective understanding. Aloha.

      1. That happens with me too sometimes. Not to throttle or otherwise offend the muse I generally let go and go with the flow to the best of my ability. πŸ™‚

  2. Lovely reflections Bela! Perfectly blending with the words.
    My horses rarely run…most of the time they love to trot, they know they can’t trample upon the emotions. So they make their best efforts to walk softly to seem soundless.

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