Like that moment the storm ceases and all you can hear is the wind easing,
the drumming and crashing have moved on,
for a time,
and the quiet is so thick you can hold it.
And your stomach unclenches and your legs stop needing to run…
It’s like that.
Like seeing a color you never have before and thinking that there should be a flavor to it,
something that bursts on the tongue and eyes like fireworks.
Like having tea with an empress,
like sleeping in a tree,
like finding your name in an old book
and remembering how it ended.
Like memories of flying….
There is something 
out there in the here and now,
and in those odd moments
you touch your life
and it touches you back
and says, 
You were right.
You were always right.
There is more.

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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