Listening

Sometimes it is wise to sit still, tiny jitters 

but the intent must be this: listening. 

Listing to your surrounding, heart, and soul,

listening to your self, and wisdom old.

You might hear the tranquil rain, the buzzing fly,

or the neighbour playing her piano.

You may let your imaginations soar, dancing

through flames of your fears, breathing 

fresh air. Listen, you are a flower fairy pocket – 

as fragile and as strong as a dazzling space rocket.

You are fresh spring, wrapped up in white lilies,

picking ramsons in the wild – readying a feast.

Yet no fear to set fire to bridges,

to rise up like a phoenix from burnt up ideas

and your naysayers ashes! Listen. You are not weak.

A foot in March, and a foot in April, sparks of life 

bursting through you like loud shimmering light beams.

Sparks of life bursting through nature – spring green.

You are life. You are alive. Just listen.

Sometimes it is wise to sit still, tiny jitters 

but the intent must be this: listening.

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