The Rumbling Presence Underneath

A Poem by Dean

It's always there.
And it would speak with eloquence
if I would simply stand aside--
out of the way of anything
besides my clamorous self...
that much beloved (and hated) fellow
who cannot seem to recognize
priorities.

It seems to have some consciousness,
and works its way into my dreams
sometimes, when I am indolent.
And then it briefly has a voice,
stimulates my curiosity,
and may inspire a poem
or a thought to nag at me,
particularly when another soul
is at my side to listen.

Ah, but then it tends to dwindle,
fade and disappear.

No, the buck stops here
and it is mine alone.
Mine to give the care it needs,
and mine to carry
into war, and peace, and consequence.
Mine to rumble with,
and mine even to celebrate--
then,
and now,
and to my own demise--
perhaps beyond for all I know.

I hear it, feel it,
love it helplessly.

Now pardon me, for I must spend
a little time to know it
better still.
~

© 2014 Dean

Author's Note

If you choose to read any of my poetry, I am always hoping for comments. I value harsh criticism, as much as I do appreciation. My purpose in writing is to advance insight, stimulate thinking, and possibly contribute in some very small way, to art and literature...all as much for my own learning, as for yours. If you then feel like reacting, I am grateful. If you do not, I apologize to you, for I have failed.

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Reviews

Linda Marie Van Tassell

The purpose of life may not be clear, but there is that ever-present awareness beneath that ever asks the questions of intent. Sometimes, the silence resounds; and we are left to wonder over the nothingness that is something irreducible, known and yet unknown. We are more than we know; yet, we always seek to know.

Love this.