Last night I watched the Apollo astronauts
Glitter into a thread of gold like
Javelins thrown to the stellar sea;
And all the world a phantasmal blue
Upon their glass faces.
"Adventure was not in the stars,"
So said my soul to my little
The Spark of Adventure Star indi ini san
Heart,
"It was there before they ever
Left."
Underneath the Canaveral sky
They walked with strides,
Their dome shape heads
Bleached blue as sapphire
And I thought to myself again.
Adventure was not in the stars
But in that walk up to the ship,
Where every moment ever died,
And every chance to flee from fate
Never was.
It's there in every moment before
Greatness; it is not the hammer that
Pounds the steel, but the flame that
Burns and never chokes upon its
Self.
The real adventure starts within;
A subtle flint within your heart
That strikes sparks into
The tindered night of
The unknown.
It was there in the moment we
Stand up to evil;
Or when we let ourselves
taste ice-cream bright
Like bubble-gum.
Every moment of grandeur is
Held together by the mortar
Of compassion and belief.
In those moments where we
Carry on.
Adventure is there,
In that liminal space in between,
The knifepoint of possibilities
Where the vibrant chaff of maybes
Comes to die at the promise of forever.
It is there when we choose to forgive,
Though we know we may be burnt
Again;
Or in picking up the phone to
Call a distant member of your family.
It was there when I chose to smile
Against a torrent of forlorn fog
And it was there in pearl glint
Of your wine glass…
Before I met your smile.