All alone in my private ecstasy,
my island in the mist of all others,
where euphoria is a silent horn,
a vacuum in a space within a space
nothing in the ears of the masses,
as I, a wandering sheep
away from the herd,
wander alone on my chosen pathway
with my ears pointed toward
a certain chordal passage in the music,
I hear a mysterious rapture
and feel a strangeness coming over me
my ecstatic moment of a sacred clarity,
a knowing of the language of the spirits
where the Music Gods embrace me
with their loving arms
and shower me with a magic dust,
their silent speech filled with tears
as they show me what heaven looks like,
the streaming through the clouds,
the pink, the crimson, the blue,
the pure waters of the virgin aire
that flow through me
and ride along my electric spine
and into the chasms of my liquid heart,
 
the melting of the terrestrial world
into a world of celestial dreams,
where the silence is heard,
where words become poems,
where poems become sweet music,
where the music melts into the air,
where it massages my heart
as it rides on a feather
and floats and drifts and smiles and
travels on and on and on and on.......

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...
Email

Other works by Robert L. Martin...

Some poets followed by Robert L. Martin...

David Whyte Lebohang Tlale Cory Garcia Delilah Sebenzile Ngwenya Vic