Golden Melody
 

Could I but spin a golden melody
      from myself as a spider draws
      her silken web, whose very flaws
make perfect records of her busy body.

Sitting here beside a motorway,
      yet turned towards a golden cornfield,
      I'm struck how rich is nature’s yield
compared to those for which we choose to pay.

Behind me speeds a world of rules and deadlines:
      in front the natural one where growth
      is an arc whose inner truth
makes every individual heart a ripening vine.

In everyday existence there’s a loss
      of faith and openness to change;
      thus round ourselves we've ranged
a web of barriers which we dare not cross:

and this, in place of rest and harmony
    spreads discord and indifference,
   less willingness to trust to chance
and a belief salvation lies in money.

This scientific world of separation
      demands that all must stand apart,
      but this is not the way the heart
does what it does best in germination.

A lovely tune holds synchronicity
   of time and place, a remembered kiss
    that suddenly showed how happiness
cannot emerge without complicity.

Seeking alignments in this ancient landscape
    our forebears found their own attunement,
   as we are challenged to find at-one-ment
of head with heart, and with it life’s true shape.

Thus in each an inner heartsong grows,
   unheard until a change of key
   adjusts the individual’s note to be,
wherefrom the final great fugato flows.

14/08/2009

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