The Invisibility

Paintings on the wall.
A visitor or two.
but for you it is all light and space.
Where the miracles happen.
Where there is room for your soul to hear
itself.

You could use some empty.
Some silence. A place where you have no value
other than what is inate. Where no one needs you
and angels, silent and unobtrusive
tend to you. Where there is no worries of falling
or failing, A place where the voices in your head
have somewhere to go.

This is why you travel. More than the miracles
you see when in new places, it is the invisibility.
It is where you recharge. Become yourself,
A place without the need for questions or answers.
No deadlines. No schedules.

This need came to you late in life. Once you thrived
in the noise. But brokeness changes a man.
Restoration changes a man. You learn
what you need, seperate from the world around you,
you realize you are not the world,
you simply live there. You learn your weaknesses.
More importantly, you learn your cures.
Like a Shaman or a Holy Man, you become
both less than you were, and more.
Rarely happy. Sometimes sad. Always in awe
of the ebbs and flows of the spirit,
always on the edge of dancing,
but mostly, still.

About this poem

Maybe I am too much the introvert for the world I live in. Maybe I am just still a little broken. Maybe I am not, and the brokeness is more a nightmare that comes up, but has no basis in today. A poem about soul. About the need of peace. About the balm of empty spaces. A poem about the process of constant healing. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken at Mass MoCA (Mass Museum of Contemporary Art). One of my favorite places in this little corner of the world. An old factory converted into a massive museum, for me it is often the space, more than the art, that sings to me.

Tom