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Walk
When you go out walking in a field or a wood,
The city life seems far away. The country smells are good.
The trees are broad and firmly rooted deep within the ground.
And in these special places, all the answers can be found.
They may not come in sonic booms, or bold shamanic flashes.
So if you are the kind of bod who does not walk, but dashes,
Stop for just a second with your bare feet on the mud,
And let your focus rest upon the deep and constant thud
Of your heart. It serves you ceaselessly. It doesn't miss a beat
As it pumps the life blood round you; from your cranium to feet.
It feeds your every organ; every vessel; every cell.
It feeds the golden yoke of you. It also feeds your shell.
And now, in simple silence, with your bare feet on the ground,
Allow yourself to hear every moment, every sound.
Close your eyes. Expand your space. Your pixels are alive
Vibrating with the consciousness that causes us to thrive.
Watch the way your diaphragm can undulate this slowly;
The more you slow your breathing down, the more you feel holy.
Holy is not biblical, but simple living truth,
And that is why a walk can reconnect your soul with youth.
1st August 2012 © Simon Welsh Poetry |
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