Passion isn’t something you stumble upon in the dark or find in the arms of another,
Nor is it a rush of energy or an intrinsic spot you can place your thumb upon.
Sometimes nameless, sometimes bold-type obvious – passion is quiet.
Soul shifting, small pulses, it awaits until its whisper is heard,
And then it can no longer be ignored. Stifle it, smash it down into an ill-fitting coffin or
drown it in a self-made sea of disillusionment – no lack of oxygen will oust its light.
To deny it is to invite a monosyllabic life, an existence predicated by what if’s, I mights, I once wished buts…
To embrace it is life from the highest peak, the clearest breeze, the stillest waters.
A soul soaring cacophony of creation simply awaiting your ink for its pen.