The Impulse

Sometimes words evaporate
When a bracing wind
Or even a soft breeze
Comes along to
Sweep them away.

Words spoken on an impulse, perhaps,
And in that moment, they have
Intense power:
Power to inflame,
To embolden,
To inspire,
To attract.


And then, for no reason really,
The impulse passes.
In a tick of the clock,
It is gone.

But the words, once spoken,
Once released into the air,
Captured by open ears,
Embedded into a mind
And a heart,
Live on.

Words set in motion a chain reaction of energy,
A charge that creates its own force,
A regenerating force,
One that may ebb and even become dormant,
But one that does not die.

So though the impulse that generated
Those words,
And released them,
Passes in a moment,
The impact of those words
Draws breath still.
Buried deep in the soil
Of a curious mind
And a longing heart.