What Is It? Poem by L C Vieira

IT is something we all search for,
shallow or not,
to win, to lose,
to turn away.

A rider on the wind,
through rustling leaves
and dancing lilacs,
IT digs beyond the changes
from spring to autumn,
down deep to roots
and what there lies beneath.

IT gently lights upon our cheek,
a morning kiss after a rain,
to wake us up to ITs great plan.
When all is busy, IT beckons us -
whispering, weeping,
roaring, wanting you and me
as much as we want IT.

IT beckons from the hot sun,
a blanket on our skin,
and stubbornly cha chas in rain
tap, tap, annoyingly.
IT twitters with the blue birds
proclaiming from the tree -
our burning secrets and then
IT stirs the order in our soul.

IT is as close as babe in womb,
as life exchanged and two souls tied.
We make excuses to run from IT,
yet all the world still hopes for IT,
still longs for IT, still prays for it
and deep inside we do know IT.
We need this thing.
We need this thing.

IT will not rest until it's ours,
nor will we rest as well.
IT is a master, and we the slave.
It is our drug,
our desperate cure,
our worst malaise,
our hunger, and our food.

IT is all to us
and all we need.

(2002, Revised 2012)