Passion
There is no such thing as
genteel passion.
There is no such thing as
passion that worries
about the cut of its hair or
whether its clothes are
straight.
Passion doesn’t care if it gets
caught.
Passion is not about thud.
It’s
about an arrow whistling by your
ear
because it was sent there on
purpose.
Passion will singe and scorch.
Passion will shatter your
charades.
Passion will tell you who you
are
until you hear it.
Passion is that magnet directly
above
that
pulls the scattered iron filings
inside you into a geometrically
perfect
straight line of backbone.
Passion puts gravel in the voice
of your truth
and
angel wings on the song of your
hope
in
the midst of your slavery.
Passion is for making a path
not
reading a map.
Passion may forgive. It does
not excuse.
Passion is not about choice.
It
is about a decision made
when
a call is heard.
Answering that call is the only
option passion allows.
Passion is about a scent
that
enraptures and carries you very
far.
You
follow it
without wondering whether you
remembered
to
grab your compass before you
left.
Passion is about eyes and skin
and
tears and sweat.
Passion can point towards home
of
the furthest point from it.
Passion will not let you
pretend.
Passion is the eloquent speech
when
you tell the world
exactly who you are.
Passion is the answer you’re
finally
willing to reach for
when
all your counterfeit coins
have
fallen to the floor.
Domenic Tamborriello
Copyright September 6, 2005
9:50
– 10:10 PM
