I woke to this: The old life is over my new life has begun There is only this rose-gold light in the east
Tag: poetry
Through
The message is simple: only breathe into what you love. This way you feed what matters and cast out what no longer serves you. This is wisdom. And it is exactly through this that you are born.
Morning
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
George Eliot
This morning I saw the sun as it rose over the far buildings. Is light always lifting this way? Never have I stood, rapt, at this window. Too distracted, busy, late for this quotidian blessing to touch me, remind me to be alive with what is. You know you can go a whole life and might not see this, know you are loved, have always been.
Mirror
I see this woman What do I tell her? It's not too late to be beautiful It's not too late to be loved You are right on time
Remember
Remember your death
My thumb traced each cross
Man, addicted
Woman, afraid
You began as dust
dust your destination
Driver, impatient
Pedestrian, astray
We marked each other
with cold fingers
Bless you, brother
Pray for me, sister
Ash and oil whispher:
Remember your life
Spared
You have been spared a great heartbreak with this small wound The truth: this loss is a gift beautiful in its simplicity Now you are free to love
Beginning
The beginning is always today.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
I thought I would know when the tide shifted and feel the beginning of this new life, but it is not that way, we not not always see the hope hatched today or The invitation you give - beginning again - is startling, but this life is always surprising me, and today is no exception
Foreigners
Foreigners! Foreigners! He announced with great delight Perhaps he even tugged on a sleeve made a small jump If only I was always so happy to see myself
Last Night
Last night I dreamed a false choice between past and present Woke knowing I can live neither again Instead today I trust a third way lies ahead And loving hands to guide me
Twenty
What are these twenty more or less hauled beneath my skin these days and years? The weight of grief my own, others' debris of hope disrupted Do I set this down as a stone, an anvil (anchor) or poured as dusty spoonfuls along a leafy path? Whatever means slow or sudden I lift, lightened lighter, alight
This Verse 