Is it an hallucination
that my own joy
so captures my imagination,
rising from the pinks of my toes
to the highest-peaked curl
on this non-existent hairstyle?
Is it my imagination
that without any deliberation
on my part,
I have excitement
pulsating from my heart?
Is it just me?
Surely,
it is not just personally
that I see streams of gold
in leaves,
the sheer green-ness of trees,
that the clouds are perfectly white,
that the sun is more bright
than Icarus might ever have known?
Have I simply been shown
(or shown by myself, to me)
revealed, unfurled,
that this is the best of all possible worlds?
Ah,
I have been asleep for a hundred years,
holding back the tears;
and wiping them away I did not drown.
I smile;
and my rejuvenated self,
somewhat pretty, somewhat clever,
will endure not just for a little while
but forever;
as long as my own forever may be.
I see,
now.
Was the grass always this green?
Or does it just seem so,
now that my eyelids are open?
Now that I am no longer broken....
Why has the world
suddenly revealed itself, anew?
It is not because of you, or you,
or perhaps it is;
I think on this,
and I ride the wild horses in any wind;
there remains yet
so much world to be refound.
Tara McH
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/awakening-51/
