Lines composed after the onset of an intermittent arrhythmia
May 2012; modified April 4, 2014
There are springtime Saturday mornings
bursting with birdsong and breeze
so sweet no set of sun salutations,
no Psalm of praise could say
such love, when life breathes light
and you run for hours on joy alone.
Do not forget these days
For there will be fortnights
filled
with fail
when worlds assault your
spirit with chainsaws
at eight
sharp
on days that follow
frantic weeks of sleep
denied
when
fears converge on fitful
nights, when cynicism drains
your life
your heart
grows dim beneath bright
skies which mock your
lonely
soul
with lies that love
persists and life abides
for flesh
is grass
that withers, dries
when summer brings
its scorching
breath
and blows untethered
hope to shreds. Do not
forget
the spring
For there will be seasons
when you find yourself dark
pilgrim
plunging
through too many
tomorrows so lost
salvation
is just
a set of syllables in
some forgotten tongue
when paths
wind inward,
spiral aimless, down
through tangles, torn
convictions,
worn out
dreams, forsaken, trapped
in mental mazes, soul
cries out
against
the ages, curses life,
denies it twice, that
empty
vessel
born to die. Do not forget
the darkest times
For there will be springtime Saturdays
when you find your heart
strangely calm
when the sacred surrounds you with signs
for it's written on the lattice of a late season frost
and whispered in the midnight storm
that peace, perhaps, will find you yet
perhaps, for you, a pulse and breath
for you, the tilt and turn of earth
for you, a patch of morning sun.
for you, a patch of morning sun.
