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Break Through

Inside my heart is a place,

where a little boy plays, and a little boy cries,

as he runs, and jumps, and tries.

But he can feel the hard cold brick,

that lies behind the tall pillows in his little rubber room.

            And he's climbing the walls.

            And he's waiting for the moment of truth.

            And he's looking,

            for just a ghost of a chance,

            to break through.

Inside my heart is a sea,

Where a young man sails, and stands up tall,

and he touches, and feels, and knows

that drifting on an endless sea is no place for him.

So he throws flailing arms against the wind.

            And he's swimming as fast as he can.

            And he's waiting for the moment of truth.

            And he's gasping,

            for just a ghost of a chance,

            to break through.

Inside my heart lives a man,

and he's a poet, and a dreamer, and he has learned how to lie.

And he walks, and he stares, and he tries,

to understand how that hard cold brick,

can hide behind the big puffy clouds that hide his dreams.

            And he's restless and crazy.

            And he's impatiently waiting for the moment of truth.

            And he keeps looking,

            for just a ghost of a chance,

            to break through.

And the tears of the poet, fall unabashed onto the paper,

and into his soul.

And the tears of the poet, mix with the smiles of life,

and cut the cracks, that form the canyon,

in the middle of his heart.

From the heart of the poet, flow broken lines,

barely in meter, barely in rhyme.

And the tears drip, drop, and echo,

into the chasm that is all he is, and the heart of a poet... breaks through.

©1992 David D. Vande Velde