Fire and ice and everything in between.
It is will.
A purpose that guides you, an impulse that sets hand to motion.
It can be a wholly creative or destructive force.
It is elemental, to be sure, but not in the way we are taught to think.
It is the passage of Time, not a frozen moment.
Like life, it is a verb, not a noun.
To think of it as something Romantic is, I believe,
To limit understanding of it and of ourselves, greatly.
It is flow.
It is the water from the spout-- hot or cold... a drip-drip-drip or a steady stream...
Yet, not the water itself, but the action--
The motion-- of it moving through our lives.
It is never, no matter what we may think,
Absent from our presence.
Nor has it left our bosom due to circumstance.
It is a constant, yet always in flux,
Ever changing, morphing, keeping time
With our experiences, our desires, and yes,
Even our doubts.
Never mourn its loss,
Simply quiet yourself long enough to hear
It's new rhythm, find the Tempo
And fall back in step with it.
It is not an outcome or a destination,
But a journey...