Something This Beautiful

Shhhhhhhhhhhh...Settle down, settle in
settle for
silence?
Is there such a thing?
Or is it more
peaks and troughs and
peaks and troughs and
pigs at troughs
of volume?

Rooting, rooted, polluted
emptiness.
A fixation on foundation
forlorn for finding
a root, a foothold,
a fixed point
which to grasp
on which to cling
on which to cleave
the true from the false
the sense from the non
the night from the dawn
and so it goes
carried on and on.

Sally forth or
to and fro
rocked on waves
that come and go.
Is there ever
silence?

Is there ever
emptiness?

Is there ever absence
of one that knows
a stillness profound
a figure with no ground
a centre with no bound
a sight unwound
from ties and chains
and lines and lies
defined, defiled, denied
demarcated
desecrated
consecrated
initiated
beginning to end
yet always becoming
a beating
thump thump
a yearning
a returning to
a stemming from
a rhythm
a cycle
a turning?

Who is this I
that eye sees
tossed on seas
of selves and other?
A canopy of you and me
a relentless wave
of seeking, finding
seeking, finding
seeking, finding
peaks and troughs
again
thump thump
peaks and troughs
again
thump thump
peaks and troughs
again
thump thump.

A heartfelt journey or
ruthless tourney?
A competitive scheme or
compassionate dream
seeking
always seeking
never still
never complete
never done.
There is nothing
to be won
after all.

All that is
and all that is not
collides, colludes, coalesces, congeals
the real, the now, the sights, the sounds
the beating
thump thump.

Bruises of being
life leaves its mark.
And if ever there was
silence
and if ever all was still
then there would not
be
something this beautiful:
you
me.