Everything
Everything's so full of lasts,
quivering, on the brink.
Time thrusts forward.
The body vehicle will not cease
decaying, children growing
ever distant, the umbilicus unraveling
to unbearable lengths
as we circumvent this world.
Pause pause pause!
People pass by in a slurry
of incessant transformation.
Surely there must be a limit?
(There is not.)
Death, inbuilt in those I've born
is yet half grown in me;
close to flowering powerfully out
of my grandmother's powdery furrows.
Routine lends the illusion of solace:
tranquilised to truth we sleep
fitfully, swaddled against horror.
quivering, on the brink.
Time thrusts forward.
The body vehicle will not cease
decaying, children growing
ever distant, the umbilicus unraveling
to unbearable lengths
as we circumvent this world.
Pause pause pause!
People pass by in a slurry
of incessant transformation.
Surely there must be a limit?
(There is not.)
Death, inbuilt in those I've born
is yet half grown in me;
close to flowering powerfully out
of my grandmother's powdery furrows.
Routine lends the illusion of solace:
tranquilised to truth we sleep
fitfully, swaddled against horror.
- Michele Seminara 2014
Michele Seminara lives in Sydney, Australia, with her husband and three children. She has been practising and teaching yoga, Buddhism and meditation for fifteen years. Her writing has been published in many online and print journals, and she was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her passions are emptiness (the Buddhist kind) and poetry. She blogs at http://micheleseminara.wordpress.com/ and is on twitter @SeminaraMichele
1 comment:
That was an incredible poem. Michele is one of the most incredible poets I've read to date. She is a favorite of mine.
Post a Comment