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I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

Diane, this is beautiful, thank you for posting it.

"...feast of losses..."

Damn. Definately lots to chew on here in this poem. Thanks for sharing it.

I was thinking this weekend about poetry that might sooth through the echoing of loss and at the same time present a shift from the finality we are faced with. Even with a larger view that Life is a continuum, that initial reaction is what it is: Painful. Can't philosophize myself out of it, yet.

If I can figure out how to copy/paste with my new computer I will post one of my fave poems that I likely posted here years ago.

It is lovely to see familiar faces, Diane. I will write.

Love
L

You're very welcome, Cate x

Laurie it was such a thrill to see your name flash back up. We will keep in touch.

Off to relish The Truly Great...