What is that thing – that courses
Through the heart and soul of us.
That propels us to reach out…
Into the deep, dark unknown
What is that thing – that makes
Our pulse quicken, breath shorten
That undoes logical thought…
Making any consequences, inconsequential
Perhaps it is a pulse – radiating
From the earths molten core.
Surging through the soles of our feet
Flooding us with restless heat.
Might it be a magnetic charge
From a distant star
That churns and turns the waters
Without and within us
Whatever, wherever, however
We are subject
To its capricious whim, captive
To its mighty, mysterious force