A Maker of Maybe

Hidden
in the infinite abyss,
I sense more than glimpse
the distant blaze;
a hazy invitation to a breaking day,
many black fathoms away.

Beckoned
by an undetected light;
inspired by my fiery core;
conspiring to rise
above the mournful floor
to grow toward a soaring more.

Triggered
by a shifting or a rift
to lift within the desolate dark;
to travel up a path
that’s so daunting and far,
while haunted by a halting start.

Launching
to create my native shape,
my growth is so uneven and slow;
convulsive pulses shock me
with explosive jolts
as fresh levels overcome old.

Lurching
into turbulent murk,
I’m roiling and writhing in my heat;
on fire inside
with uncertain urgency,
while I surge uneasily.

Reaching
beyond all I’ve always known,
I breach and I can finally breathe;
an island isolated
by a ceaseless sea,
yet connecting everything.

Naming
is an ancient sacred claim;
Ho’olana is my name, my own;
hopeful shore for those
who roam the Oceans of Woe;
haven in the Sea of Deep Sorrows.

Knowing
I was born to form and flow;
to shake foundations under your feet;
my terrain ordained
as a Maker of Maybe
to feed the fruitful seeds of dreams.

Lee DeNoya - Atlanta, December 2023

Art - Herb Kawainui Kane, Pele Searches for a Home