What earthly home have I,
an exile , other than what I seefrom a distance, a mere stranger-
the unconscious part
of which my hapless part
inhabits-its periphery
where pain and anguish
manifest themselves, silent
to every one but myself.
It's so alien when I try to belong
but so hospitable when I decide
I'm just visiting. When the weary
desire has lowered its final
eyelids on all I have done
or left undone what flow out
of the evanescent abode-
ordinary dreams and my
impatience and useless youth,
that empty sack, my heart-
some gaps, the last fear.
The host body at last becomes
not me but itself-the gardener
of dust uses as a mould
for the shape of future dust.
I turning from the body
I wore for my earthly journey
will now be myself-
unknown, and noble of spirit, unknowing.
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
Read 30 times
Written on 2025-01-21 at 03:12
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Jamsbo Rockda |
