One’s Pulse
One isn’t truly alive, until one is equal to one,
Your body one with one’s mind and heart,
To be alive one must be equal to the balanced scales of Libra,
You must trust yourself no matter what the pulse of life gives you,
Once one with yourself as a whole, you may spread a pulse of your own,
A pulse of journey, a pulse of knowledge, and a pulse of life,
Once a found pulse is founded, it’s rhythm may spread to those around you,
Rivers may jump and ripple to a wealthy rhythmic beat,
Forests may sway, twist and swirl like the 1920’s jazz crazed teens,
Spreading its freedom of choose and the power of one’s will of chose,
As one’s pulse grows stronger, so to does it’s rhythm,
With growth comes change,
And as one’s pulse grows it changes through the ripples of life and death,
It’s rhythm joins others to create a spectacular dance of emotions and chance,
Rhythms that move and bounce the oceans with a base beat unlike any other,
Its power unmatched and plosive unknown to anything of earth,
The pulse spreads like raging fire, catching everything to its unfathomed disease,
A rhythm, a pulse, an idea from one,
One’s pulse can become powerful once one is equally trusted with oneself.