This has special meaning for me now, in my exile.
And next Spring, as I brought new offerings to the scorched sacred place I had made, I saw a single sunflower struggling to stand in this ground where nothing had grown, where my fires had leached it of all that might have welcomed it. And I realized that here was the hard truth of it all, the blackened circle of earth turning, the seasonal imperative of an implacable purpose.
To make a life out of the ashes
To put down roots where you find yourself
To endure alone what must be done alone
To believe nothing ends but begins again.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 541 times
Written on 2011-01-12 at 15:21
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Prose Poem
All that Spring, Summer and Fall I gathered storm-snapped limbs, tree-trimmings, leaves and the leavings the wind dropped against the fence-line and carried them to a corner of the pasture where rain runoff had gullied it and nothing grew. Near dusk on nights when there were no stars or moon (and no wind) I'd stack all the dry little deaths into a pyre and set it afire . . . sending my sparks of light into the empty sky, creating my own constellations, and thinking I had done a good thing, made a proper ending, a fitting prayer.And next Spring, as I brought new offerings to the scorched sacred place I had made, I saw a single sunflower struggling to stand in this ground where nothing had grown, where my fires had leached it of all that might have welcomed it. And I realized that here was the hard truth of it all, the blackened circle of earth turning, the seasonal imperative of an implacable purpose.
To make a life out of the ashes
To put down roots where you find yourself
To endure alone what must be done alone
To believe nothing ends but begins again.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 541 times
Written on 2011-01-12 at 15:21
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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sana |
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vladimir todor turmanev |
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jenks |
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shells |
