Simple Purity of Being

Simple Purity of Being

“Bad brains, bad brains, she’s got bad brains”,
The Doctor sits in front, explains,
And more of the same, in a similar vein,
I shut my ears to shield the pain.
“There is no diagnosis,
The only prognosis,
Is a lifetime of diligent caring”,
And as she grew older,
The bigger the folder,
A record to constant despairing.

And I wonder how she could have been,
And fall asleep, and start to dream,
And see her as she walks to me,
And smiles, and laughs, and talks to me,
Saying the things I’ve longed to hear,
Her greatest hope, her biggest fear,
And she loves me more than she can say,
But I must wait, to know some day.

And as she grew, she found the way,
To communicate what she could not say.
Swaying her body to every melody,
Giggling at slapstick on TV,
Unfiltered feelings of rage and joy,
Outrageous flirting with every boy.
Blowing kisses, like emotional sonar,
Seeking response, in answer to her.

And then one day, with piercing eyes,
She looked at me, and I realised,
There’s a rhythm running through her,
There’s a rhythm, there’s a rhythm,
There’s a rhythm running through her,
And if you see it like I do,
You will feel it too.

Like a single flute, when expecting guitars,
Like a pitch-black night, then suddenly stars,
A darkened space reveals its joys,
A velvet whisper in a sea of noise,
Like a brilliant light, occasionally seen,
through the mists that cling to the lands,
Like God tried to chisel a perfect truth,
but the instrument broke in his hands.
That’s my Arianne.

And what used to be just caring,
For a life in search of meaning,
Became much more like sharing,
A simple Purity of Being.

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