I have never won
one of those coveted
golden bodies
I envisioned myself holding
back in my girlish days.
But I know this lady
who has held several.
And as far
as I know,
she does not sit down
and polish them
afterward,
but gets up
and gets up
and gets up
and does the next thing
after the thing
that came before it.
For most,
the first thing
is to want a thing.
The next,
to allow yourself
to want it,
followed by
taking actual steps
toward living it.
And after that,
way, way after that,
most likely,
you discover that there is no “there”,
just the way
that you are going.
I know
I will hold the want
I have in my heart
as I walk
toward the vision
my heart is holding.
But mostly
I will walk
and I will walk
and I will walk,
stopping
only briefly
to say “hello”
and wish my fellow travelers
safe journey
on the way.
xxx
c
Image by miss karen via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.
communicatrix 
Just gorgeous. I *puffy heart* poetry Thursday. The simplicity and raw honesty of your poetry always grabs my attention and pulls it right back to the present moment.
xoxo.
Yes. This is my Thursday too. Thank you.
Wonderful, as always!
A prescription for sanity if I ever read one. Thank you!
I liked the subtle distinction between wanting a thing — reflexive and yearning and beyond our control — and then allowing yourself to want that thing — to acknowledge and fully experience that want, to confess that it lives inside us. A fine observation, a lovely poem. xo.
You, too, eh?
Thanks for noting that. For me, it’s the pivotal thing. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to figure out that there was a difference.
The elegance
that lives in you
continues to flow
from your mind
through your hand
and onto the
paper
for me to read.
Lucky me.
This really really speaks to me today!
Thank you! In my own creative process, I occasionally get lost in dusting the golden bodies that have come my way. This poem was a lovely reminder that doing my creative work is the destination, as well as the journey, and that the golden bodies are neither.