Tears of joy are rare, if ever, for me,
Except when the music plays…
They teeter on the edge,
As if to bear witness,
To the thick air of the rave,
To that hush before the drop,
To the pause before the moment stops.
That tear…
Limbers up like a gymnast poised to tumble
Through the canopy of my lashes,
Cutting a shimmering hue down my cheek,
Waiting for the moment to stop.
In that moment, the self unravels,
In that moment, silence reigns.
As the crescendo peaks and the bass resonates through every fiber,
Rippling like a pebble-struck ocean,
I cannot fathom this ethereal epiphany,
Coursing through every plane of my former self.
Is it within or without?
My soul flirts with the frequencies,
Converging at the event horizon.
The heart and the beat are one.
Enveloped in sound, the crowd dissolves.
We are one.
Here comes the pause.
Hairs stand to attention.
A quivering breath escapes.
And then…
The drop.
A tsunami crashes through the barriers of my core,
Pure ecstasy swells to the fore,
As the drop collides head-on with the shore.
Succumbing to the waves, we are all submerged…
We are alone, no more.
And as that first wave retreats,
That stubborn tear finally tumbles and falls to the floor.
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