The Hidden Lake

Take me to the hidden lake
let us wander through
the valleys of your heart
Let us revel in the splendour
of all that rests within
Accumulations, it’s what we are
everything we’ve felt and seen

Let us swim in the hidden lake
in that secret world
deep at the core of you
Make it rain, bring forth the sun
We’ll watch the waters flow
across your canvas
into the sea, into reality

When the soul flows through
and out of you…

How long I’ve wondered
where this thing springs from
How long I’ve yearned to learn
what is the source
that feeds your ocean
How long I’ve ached to understand
where creativity is born

Is it the gifting light of some divinity
or weird wiring in the brain
A prophet with a prayer to share
something deep to celebrate
A seer into the fabric of what is
with raw sensitivity, purest empathy
or a jester writing their own joke book

When the soul flows through
and out of you…

The unique way you see things
how you intuit and interpret
painting the ephemeral
The haunting way your voice
speaks of the rich duality
as it carries the tune of living

Don’t despair, the lake is always there
some days, the level low
some days, only a trickle flow
Some days, the dam spills over
some days, the trek into the mountains
takes a little longer

We’ll always return with something new
there’s nothing more beautiful
there’s nothing more true

When the soul flows through
and out of you…

[2022]

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Letter From The Lake

Dear friend
a sigh is leaving me
I can concentrate now, finally
a statue, standing on the jetty
the lake’s slow wash below the boards
hypnotising me

I feel freer now than ever
more than I did back there
I don’t know how you toil on
those boiling days below the city
tinned-life crammed in
and searching for air

You wrote me of the love you found
that you always dreamed was waiting
head cocked to one side
a wry smile you’re both sharing
suddenly but so completely
a focus for all that untamed love in you

Here, life moves slow
but never stops completely
there is a girl down in the town
who looks at me so coyly
and some rough lad up at the farmhouse
who would gladly make me his

Between the wind-battered fields
and evenings pickling in the only pub
I keep an eye out for that inner peace
one night I might let him take me
or another, dance her into a barn

I’ve been finding something here
but, speaking plainly, it’s not you
I’m still swimming out each morning
with that pale look upon my face
I swim six laps before breakfast
the palest hope painting my face

I wish you well
and happy with whoever
come and see me one year soon
come up to the water and stay
until then, my friend
take care…

[2013]

Thank you for reading.

https://linktr.ee/tomalexwrite