if I pass away in some foreign field
sun burnt white back bones
the brittle stations of the cross
civilisations like bones
… turn to dust
who will know to come and mourn?
if they knew, would they?
eulogy or legacy
what remains
.. other than another day
as the worlds falls apart
the strings are pulled
it all unravels, at the end
I can’t leave, but eventually I will
just passing through
who the fuck are you? who tells you who you are? the world or your inner voice? what is this life what’s the reason or purpose? born, exist, die passion before action affirming what is before yes, suffering is real for a season choose one, fall into discontent only one time for each season let your inner voice scream into the chasm even if fuck all happens
delicate filigree entwining enticing, ensnaring woven webs capturing beauty created by the unknown what lies in the voids the spaces between threads what could be isn’t there or is it the mystery of the unknown …… just imagine
looking back, I gaze at a red and broken past around my feet lies the present an uncertain yet clear future lies before surrounded by pain time spent with the dead and dying understanding death at times comes easier than conversing with the living contemplation brings a deeper appreciation of life all I want my epitaph to be is not confusion, but ….. “just trying to leave someone alive”
it’s a mystery to me how it commences only the wind remembers from whence it came and where it goes yet we wish on it with dandelions in bloom will the wind ever remember that wish it blows on its way for at the end of the day all for that we yearn is to be remembered by name at days end when the clouds lift light will breakthrough yet the wind will not look back but …. what of us, should we
time passes as the river flows from whence it comes to where it goes cutting a pathway leaving scars in its wake once passed we cannot return in the beginning from birth forced through cracks from a trickle great steams grow going with the flow as time passes great rivers are master sculptors seeking new horizons forging into the unknown until at days end all rivers merge no second chances all the while time passes
a poem of reflection …..
under the influence of life all things merge into one forming a single perfect storm motionless I lay on the turgidity can approaching silence be so quiet? waiting in hope, in time and silence a single menacing mass approaches gray clouds merging into a single menacing black mass waiting and listening in the silence what defines you now is how you deal with this tempest afterward, do you lie basking in the sunlight or broken, bruised on the rocks for in that silence you will be defined
a forest of thoughts with pathways of grit bordered by the ageless unbending, yet graceful willow trees waving me on effortlessly with the wind of yesteryear I traverse the pathways crushing fear underfoot grittily determined to endure with grace as my companion and pockets full of pebbles slowly being ground into the gritty sands of time
“Our interest in death and illness is nothing but a way of expressing an interest in life” Thomas Mann – my poem below is written from a medical perspective – every life matters and has value
air goes in and out blood goes round and round that says the medic keeps you alive in sickness and death illness and injury not all goes as it should this is well noted blood and guts sickness and death that last ….. potential breath affirms our quest intimacy with death fuels our passion in life in its abundance ours and yours … the next patient?
the moon behind my back with shadows stretching out before, distorting, lengthening, changing the way that lies ahead standing in the gray hoping to arrive as I keep chasing rainbows to dry my tears
