Cycles of the sun

The drums can move your heart
Stirring passions if the soul
Blood filled feelings that pump
To the rhythm of the ground.

When I was young and bold
I felt this tidal pull
And didn't even know
From which direction it came.

The thirst the hunger for
Adventure, difference, belonging
And purpose.

The desire to run out into the night
Under full moon
Not fully human
More demon than animal

Howling and grunting
Like the beast.

The civilized way is to put on a mask
And dance around in daylight
Hiding in plain site.

That you are a good beast
A friendly beast
A cultural beast.

And not the underlying beast
The actual heart of darkness.
A darkness that is not evil.
For why should the absence of light be That?
But that frightening darkness if unknown.
The unknown that we call impossible.
Yet we know it is actually right there.

Out there.
Within reach but out of sight.
Calling to us like
Singing sirens on the shore.

Do they steer us to destruction or enlightenment?

Are those one in the same?

Can it be that only
Crashing on the rocks
Steering toward the sheer cliffsisbthe answer?

Or do we call upon our men to the us to the mast and plug our ears, and ignore us
Deaf to desperate and violent pleading
So that we may hear only what no men live to hear

But survive the wretched rocks.

The sun cycles.
The earth turns and moves around it.
We grow older and supposedly wiser
And yet not really.
The drum beckons.
Night comes
As we turn to the darkness of space
And our blood drives us mad
Pumping adrenaline, coaxing flight, fight and all manner of ardor
Out into the unknown.