The Melodies of Crickets

I think it was in between Carver and Dostoevsky
When I understood what Dylan Thomas meant by
The light breaks where no sun shines, so I
Found a heart where no beating had been felt.
The blood rushed back like a flood, heart raced
Like a youth chasing fireflies around a field.
My mind, its natural foe, tired from the fight
Sat down on the floor and said “You are right.”
This time, it was the mind who let her inside.
It opened the window to all of her ideas
And dreams and fears like it had a small racing
Heart of its own and finally met its counterpart
To fill it with the throbbing it had always felt.
She became my heart’s secret agent, so I sat
Down on the floor with all of them, undefeated,
But thankful for the rest. This red beast
Had carved respect by showing up every day.
But it fought dirty. All it did was sing.
A melody washed me like Ennio Moriconne
On a Mission to show how strong it had grown.
Its return to battle this time, like Thomas wrote,
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart push
In their tides. Bones take on flesh. Soil proves fertile.
The candle finally becomes the fire it meant to be
All along. The tiny red heart the mind thought its own
Simply was my heart itself, infiltrating to be heard
Like the melodies of crickets wooing in the morning
When I finally woke up and chose to be.

Image: The Book Lover by Frantisek Kupka

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