Poetry – The Engine

May 10, 2011

The Engine

Our journey begins with a spark.

A flare that is not in our head

but just under our heart.

At first we feel it

not knowing what it is.

Just an impulse telling us

“It’s not enough to stand still.”


This motor thrums within,

never satisfied with inactivity,

never wanting it and never even considering

what it could be.

All it wants is to start our first step.

Our first imprint on the world.

It bursts forth and sparks fly

in throbbing flashes of zeal,

shooting and seething inside us,

electrifying every right spot

so that we know it is the truth,

this movement.


One after the other we begin our steps,

innumerable and uncountable

each day thousands made

with our ideas, words, toes and soles

crunching down a path that is our own.

In the beginning it started within you

but one heart is not enough.

It spreads from another to another.


With forward force it propels us

and we forget the tiny spark

that ignited it all.

And if you never look back

you’ll never find it.

But if you follow the prints

made from ideas, words, toes and soles,

you can make it. Just listen

to the thrum, thrum, thrum

pulsing low in the distance.


Each backwards step closes the gap.

No mere sound anymore.

It gains volume, presence, a voice

inside you very chest.

It is alive in you once more

and you remember the fire beneath your heart

and the reason you even move at all.




One comment

  1. I read this a few times, and it is growing on me. For me, it expresses the impulse to create, that I also feel as an artist. Yet it also expresses the frequent possibility of forgetting the initial drive to create; the feeling of confusion when you pause in the middle of a creative act and lose the momentum. You have an impulse to keep making, but forget what the the point was in the first place. I reckon you should submit this. What comps are you entering?

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