Wednesday, February 13, 2008

A Precious Few

my dear friend mike who is a complete and total stud and deep and beautiful human being sent me this poem.
had to share part of it.
if you've been in the space this poem meditates on, you know.

Saturday Again

Saturday afternoon,
Or something.
The way you feel
When you should be resting
But you’re not.
All the milestones and deadlines
Are passed,
You’re screwed,
Thinking that another week is about to start.
The dog, knowing your intentions,
Steers a wide path.
Perhaps the family
Will not be so lucky.
Perhaps you
Will just check out.
Your fates are in the balance…

So, you think,
“Maybe light and dark are not options.”
“Maybe black and white are brothers.”
“Maybe Mother is the grey,”
“Her children, no color at all.”

...

“Where does it go?”
“Where does it go?”

You might imagine a cosmic receptacle
For all the good stuff,
With fancy shelves and labels.
You might also imagine a cosmic shredder,
Spewing out debris from the crappy stuff --
Looks like a comet,
A million light years long.

I look up and strain to see.
I inhale and exhale,
And try to take it inside me.
I reach out with my hands,
Wondering what I’m touching.
Almost in prayer,
I’m all alone again,
Perhaps until Sunday morning
Or something.

There are things
Worth believing in,
A Precious Few.
They cling to you most tightly
When you let go,
Guide you like gravity,
As you travel,
Keep you warm
In the howling winds,
Speak to you
As you sleep
And dream.

1 comment:

nonprofitprophet said...

I can relate. Good job Mike.