Breathe. . .

slough off the stress. . .

whatever hint of peace you can accept,

let go the grip
you have on pain,
so you can cease to seethe,

the fearsome, sad and angry
tales you tell
that long hence
on your sail
morphed into your self-epithet. . .

And open up your eyes
to clouds and blue,
trees asked to dance by wind,
plants gulping rain,
and rivers slowed
‘neath crusts of ice,
or high streams
buried in their
future feed,
the deep, slow-melting
heaps of snow,

breathe out,
breathe in. . .

and let this happen easy
in its perfect
rhythmic repetition,

until it sets your gut
and heart
to pursue and get
and have the power
to share and process
your and the world’s
objects of real need
and deep desire,

until you’re delighting
in your hard-earned sweat,
and you feel the warmth
come to your eyes and face
to set your body
and your spirit
into the happy sort of glow
you’ve not had
the great good fortune yet
to know.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons, Spring, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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