Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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There isn’t a heart
that beats long into life
and hasn’t been torn
like the muscle
it truly is.
Flexed too hard.
Pulled too hastily
in this direction
or that,
by a smile
or words
or eyes
or candor.
It’s the folly
of relying
on a single beating drum
to set the rhythm 
of happiness and belonging
so simple to lose in step,
and die
over and over again
like some kind
of mad scientist’s creation
cooked up
in a stone-walled lab
filled with lightning
and passion.
To live
is a choice to believe
in next breaths
and coursing blood.
To love
is to take that choice,
hold it to the light,
and beg for purpose
from air and pulse.
makes the decision easy,
the bewitching smile worn
and round,
begging eyes
wide with vulnerability.
The roundness
of such inviting curves
and the deliberate invitation
of their casual reveal.
Oh it’s not only enough
to want
to keep breathing,
keep beating;
it’s enough to believe,
despite all evidence otherwise,
that this
is the meaning
behind day endurance
and night mercy.
This isn’t only
a chance at redemption
for the selfish,
an answer
to struggling passions
and unsatisfied desires
that has left beauty
scarred in its wake.
this is bigger,
a great endless
kind of space
glimpsed when the sky
sheds its clouds
and blue
and is honest
with the upturned
that wish and wonder.
This is pure awe
and it’s happening
quick and simple,
like kind words
to a newborn.  (at Heart Dance (Part 1))

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