My soul is a crystal pool
locked in a high mountain valley.
The singing clarity of thought
seeks ever to move into the flood
of kindred awareness.
A single stream flows from my citadel,
as words and music bear testimony
to its existence.
Hear my words
and move to the music of my soul.
For when I seek an exit
by any other path,
my soul becomes hidden
in the mist of fear.
Someday I will be there in my music.
Someday my words will become reality.
The flood gates will open
and my soul will plunge with delght
into the warmth of acceptance.
But will I miss the high mountain?
c. Donna Swanson