The Inner Hero
Hope springs eternal, my friends, and I think there is something to be said about just getting up and facing another day when it seems like the war has been lost. It's poetry, though, so frickin' beware. Been writing a lot of poems lately--they've come out pretty dark, emo and emotionally immature (imagine that!). This one, however, seems to have turned to a different tone, one of hope rather than despair. I wonder if that means I too have turned a corner? I can only hope. So, to celebrate, I share this with you--with only moderate embarrassment. Here's to finding your own inner hero.
LIFE CYCLE
From dust springs earth
Even as worms work
Mouldering organics churn
From putrescence:
fertility.
The death, the rot, the broken core
Turns with time
Revives the settled, the stagnant
And grows
once more.
Fear not, then, tiny heart
Heroism not measured in size
but tenacity, ferocity and
plunging into certain fire
staring down the worms
who claim all at end.
or start.
bottom or top
they will have all.
Each one.
Each crumb of life,
Just food for someone else.
It is the way.
And the way is good.
Eat my body, drink my blood...
Everlasting life beats on
Dharma of death, rot, rebirth
Shiva makes way for Brahma
Easter follows tomb,
even as Mary sits shiva.
Molecules bump molecules,
pass the energy on.
Even as worms feed,
rise!
Rise victorious from stench
from putrid implosion
Rise!
reborn recycled renewed.
Brahman owns even the worms.
And the Universe expands as
the Ineffable
Inhales.
Rise again and evangelize through breathing
inhale
exhale
the cycle reflects,
repeats even here,
even as the spark
leaps a synapse and goes dark.
Eternity
Holiness
Life everlasting
The fractal of Creation that spins down
from greatest edge-of-reality quasar
to tiniest atom, muon and quark.
Repeated,
In the cilia of lungs
the pulse of diaphragm
the expansion, pause, contraction
of the tiny heart.
The Hero exhales stardust.