Movement Poem by grace mariner

An object in motion remains in motion,
or so I've been told.
Energy, swift and racing like a lovers beating heart,
moving from here to there.
From the dead to the living it transforms itself, weaving in and
out of our ragged quilts.
Even the wind can be stopped by the mountain while the mountain may
succumb to the sea.
But this spark cannot seem to find its final resting place.
It burns and sparkles, radiant and gun metal blue.
It slips in and out of my yellow and red dreams, haunted by ghostly
mothers...ghostly others.
Invasive, it wraps around me for moments, brushing past with a deep lingering kiss, only to be caught on the
breeze, then echo back to my solitude.
Where does this energy go, can someone please explain?
It is cruel as it remains continually in motion, allowing no rest for my troubled soul...
and my fractured heart.