Remnants of a Thousand Springs
The things that one grows tired of
The longing and the loving
And how the face gets older each season
I used to hardly perceive the difference
The wonder and joy are calmer now
My senses no longer follow
I am gracious with just a few
Wheeling stars, a recurrence of spring
A belt of purity across the simplicity
A sacred look a day from a stranger
I imagine to be a good omen
I’m aware of the fuel to inner burning gold
That lets memories fly away like birds
Ascending to a winter heaven
I’m less fortunate than before, I’m lucky
Only as a nomad of the inner worlds
Learning to live without preference
My attachments burned away
Until I found a solid grasp on happiness
That didn’t require significant objects
The props of living, remnants of desire.
This expresses so well what I’ve been experiencing lately…the line “how the face gets older every season” grabbed my attention right away. The spirituality of aging shines through in your poem.
Thanks Victoria, this might sound silly to you, but I found the difference between 33 and 35 quite dramatic 😛
Wisdom and light. I love the imagery this poem evokes, highlighted by the image of candles. Beautiful and calming, as evening falls.
Thanks Beth, I do like the photo as well, it warms from the inside 🙂
A year away fro 60, this touches me deeply. This is simply beautiful writing.
Sweet, I’m glad you could relate to it Alethea.
Yes I think this was my best one tonight….