Where You Will Find Me

When inspiration swallows me whole,

and I'm possessed,

not by madness,

but by muses,

weaving my psyche into dreams,

seeing color with sound

in that half-conscious haze

between breath and becoming.

It's like ecstasy,

and I am always chasing it.

That trembling passion,

that holy fear that rises

when you walk into

an ancient cathedral

and something stirs.

Something old.

Something wild,

deep in your blood.

This is where you will find me.

In every stroke of paint,

every twist and bend in dance,

in every blooming flame and flower,

in every beam of light.

I search for that place.

That hidden magic

behind the veil,

in stars,

in ruins,

in storms and whispers.

I want to show you what I feel.

But how do you explain color,

to a seeing blind man?