Pulse Poem by Matthew Holloway

There's that throbbing again
In the chest, the wrist, the neck
That pulse beating out a rhythm
Of words to be writ, spoken and felt
That pulse demanding to be heard
That drive, desire, passion
It's all there just below the skin
Beat after beat you can almost hear it
Feel it sure that's a guarantee
It keeps you awake at night sometimes
You can't subdue it, drown it out
With coffee or alcohol or drugs
It's poetry, it's life, it's everywhere
And in everything you can see, hear, touch
That's what the pulse is playing out
Words upon a page or spoken to a cassette
To be kept, repeated and shared
And it's there again throbbing away