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

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