She looked at me with cold blue eyes,
Empty of feeling like glittering ice.
She lifted her hand and drew down her sleeve.
With her other, she pointed and said:
You want to cut here and thus for this to work.
Next time make sure you get it right.
Still showing no emotion,
She left me lying in the strange bed
With all the wreckage I had wrought.
I also displayed no emotion.
But grief bled from my bandaged arms.
These days I live close to the bone.
This is no mere phrase.
The face that looks at me from the mirror
Is ever older and gives a glance of skull;
The body that moves or not
Is ever thinner and juts with skeletal outline.
I could say this be not my choice,
Citing illness and age.
But we all face this end,
Whatever the appearance.
No amount of flesh or care or luck will spare us.
So I cherish my circumstance as valuable,
A visible reminder not to waste my time.
Once, long ago, she wanted my heart.
I gave her a cup of tea and a poem.
She tied a cord of red thread around my wrist
And wept before she left.
What did that mean?
Do not ask for my heart; I have already given it.
Freely; willingly; with abandon. To you, yes, but also to:
The friend who calls from a distant land;
The neighbor who visits over the fence;
The postman who offers a friendly wave;
The stranger who walks down the street.
For these and many others, I have cast my devotion and regard,
Wanting each to be happy, at ease, free from suffering, and joyful.
So again, do not ask for my heart.
Know that you have it already and help spread it through the world.
Now is a good time to reflect upon deities
And who we will decide to worship, and why?
We all have idols, numerous ones,
Acknowledged or not,
So it behooves us to choose wisely.
I would suggest liminal beings,
For we are on the threshold in many ways,
Looking backwards and stepping forward.
We need divinities that speak to transition,
Enable us to handle change and be not afraid,
And move from warring with each other to peace,
Gods and goddesses that do not compete for supremacy,
Nor encourage us to do so,
But instead work for the betterment of all existence
And inspire us to do likewise.
I know who I think upon: to whom do you pray?
I walk outside before dawn
To breathe in the quietness of this time
And watch the clouds move across the moon.
All is cast in tones of gray and shadow,
And there is a sense of abeyance,
A momentary hush,
As if the world has taken a brief pause
For meditation and reflection.
Soon enough the sky will fill with the colors of morning,
And the sounds of the day will begin.
Five rivers traverse Hades, the underground.
You think you get to choose; mind you, you don’t.
We all have to cross each river alone at some point.
For this poem, ponder this:
Which rivers would you enter, and for what reasons?
The River Styx, the River of Hate, allows you entrance to the underground. Take care.
Charon can ferry you through the River Acheron, the River of Pain, but you always have to pay.
Travel the River Cocytus, the River of Lamentation, with an open heart. Consider others’ suffering.
We all drink from the River Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness, in some fashion. Be aware.
The River Phlegethon, the River of Fire, can destroy your hubris. This is not a bad thing.
Remember you journey with gods, lost souls, and powerful currents.
Think wisely; take a deep breath; and begin.
“SO EVEN THOUGH WE FACE THE DIFFICULTIES OF TODAY AND TOMORROW,
I STILL HAVE A DREAM”.
I look around me to see
The empty spaces once filled by all we’ve lost:
People gone; land destroyed; dreams themselves dying,
And wonder can we bear this cost?
But I also pause to hear
The many voices that sing out a common song:
Notes of lamentation, but woven with threads of laughter and hope,
And remember that love remains strong.
There can be all manner of destruction and devastation,
But I will not forget the outstretched hands, the kind acts, and the courage of community.
We are all living with rattling skeletons
That come to us from multiples lives.
(Not just our personal one but those of the different spaces we inhabit-
Land, religion, culture, gender, species and countless other such.)
The question becomes,
What do we do with these and all they represent?
Some choose to acknowledge them,
Make friends, and even dance.
Others pretend not even to see their existence,
Or stuff them in the cellars to shift and creak.
Many spend their years running in fear
From the certain voice (deep within)
That we are all speeding towards a mirror.
And when we gaze into this, we will see?
Skeletons gazing back.
Have you learned to dance yet?
