There was no opal

in my one, open eye.

I saw no dreams,

spoke no truths that shifted the mountains.

My words are a single pick upon the stone,

I lack the power,

my dynamite has no fuse.

I can only move my hands in strange

rhythms and sapphire beats.

I an only lift up my arms

and let the pattern tap out through my feet.

I know no fury

but this unknowing urge.

It is not primal.

It is not obtuse.

It rides a melody that betrays

how often our ancestors danced

in the darkness

around the fire

to the ruby thunder and in the emerald rain.

There is no way to mask the pain,

it simply transforms into

motion.

Nothing fancy, nothing clean,

but containing a notion of what my soul

had come to speak.

I may have found no revolutionary

technique,

but I know that when I leave

I will no longer feel heavy.

I will have found

the diamond of my own mind.

A miner,

searching for that which contained

the most inherent value.