Inspiration as Passion

Walking, Drowning…They seem the same to me
For no sooner do I take my first step, two more needed are added for good measure
Passion, she calls herself, and no man lets her be
For every pain she has given, there too was pleasure

I set my sights to woe her and make her mine
I called out to her in earnest; Yet, she turned her head as if responding to a faint whisper
Her glance present only for a short time
Drowning, I lamented, “I miss her”

Our time was short together in the heat of youth
Her smile kindled something in me that now grows cold in her absence
I stopped and fell to my knees having realized what I have failed to deduce
Not a Matter of Form but of Essence

For the one who smiled and what was kindled were one and the same
How funny my actions seem now when the answer was so plain