Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame
Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock
Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.
(Art my own)
Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame
Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock
Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.
(Art my own)
Is death a gentle reprieve,
a final release of suffering
a promised resting place?
Or is it contemplation
coloured by memories
demanding retribution?
Will death bring reunion
unleash forgiveness
shine with revelation?
Will one final earthly breath
call forth all the fragments of the soul
and restore wholeness?
I have witnessed death –
both embraced and unwanted –
snatch the spirit from its nest
felt the whoosh of escape
and a swirl of celebration,
known the peace that follows
witnessed the body, open-eyed
and open-mouthed
become a vacuum –
discarded membranes;
an impotent shell.
The spirit does not dwell there;
it lives on borrowed time.
Where it goes when all is done
remains life’s poignant mystery.
(Originally posted January of 2015, this poem fits V.J.’s Weekly Challenge theme of mystery, hosted on One Woman’s Quest II. There is still time to participate. Head on over and check it out.)
Immersed in the spiritual –
not yet fully present –
participating,
considering
new beginnings,
openings
so much easier
to go back to sleep
leave the living
to the younger
more energetic
generations
surpassing me
clued in to
technology,
modern nuances
yet, even they
slumber, lulled
by a confidence
I too once donned,
before immersing
myself in the spiritual.