One had to lose a lot to start this journey.
(The moment unannounced
pounced,
and before "Who me?" was spelled
propelled.)
A ticket unbought,
an unclear day to start -
some fear, the hardest part,
not start the worst.
The driver's face turned,
and that passing strange
played rearrange with thoughts,
retorts were stilled,
killed,
heart-milled,
then caught, returned.
A voice speaks, giving vision for a moment,
a time to last through many times to come.
Time seconds, comprehends that brief shown intent,
but never finds the words to put to tongue.
The question dies unasked,
The heart there stands unmasked,
pulsing gently,
one and two,
one and two,
and driving
surely
you.
© John McNeil 1998. All rights reserved.
This poem may be used free of charge, on the condition that copies are not sold for profit in any medium, nor any entrance fee charged to a performance. In exchange, the author would appreciate being notified of any occasion the poem is used in public performance. He may be contacted at: soul.communication@outlook.com