Springs

When hearts beat only in arid barren throbs

upon a desert soil of acrid acceptance

only the wind can serenade the lifeless layers

nothing blooms in the solitude and coldness

where the sands of soul like fallow in feeling.

 

Love is the stream that runs beneath the surface

it wait the touch of another to be a drill,

which allows that living essence to create a spring,

to flow as water that heals and nourishes

until a garden thrives within one’s wilderness

and the pool bubbles to bring joy to everyone

who takes time to tastes its sweet fluids.

 

Suddenly the spreads a vitality

every where in that plot within the mind,

what teems is beauty and radiance,

the shear glow of that aliveness

where the sun dance its light like a flame

before the eyes filled with visions of splendor.

 

Fertility transcends the fruitless plain

that dwells in the cerebral fields,

because spring has come by an indwelling

of that single ingredient in its potency,

which can invigorate any inner essence,

until joy becomes the rose that blossoms

amid the cactus of thoughts.