I slip slowly into a maze of words.
I realize suddenly that my entire being is an art form of expression and wonder, curiosity, myth, and reality curving together and shaking with rapture at the intersections and commonalities woven between the rhythm.
I am lost to the magic spirally beyond it all.
Yet I mourn the fact that I’ve let myself hide away from the music pounding within my bones. I’ve hidden from the very life coursing from my veins trying to survive. The hiding precipitated the slow death of me.
I’ve been a dead man walking. Driven by the wind, I’ve clung and grasped at the air without realizing it’s my very breath that sucked the song from my lungs.
At the point where my spirit disconnected from my being, I was buried in a tomb of my own making.
Here lies my body. Here, my fingers softly pound keys, revealing my heart, my resolve, and I breathe again.
These words, my resurrection.