a journey of awareness
For the record, today's photo is another one taken by my wife.H. K.
A Geisha Withdraws Her SupportWisk-broom the thresholdSo none of the dead can get back in --None of the hungryFor whom lanterns were floatedDown estuaries of water-lilies.In each paper boat, a messageSent like money into smoke.Its calligraphy In black inkSmearing what was written.What it said was a riddle,One of the thousand grains of sandThat glistened in the desertAnd were forgotten in the snow.Perhaps it was a rejectionOf life, or an acceptance of change,However remorseless time isWhen children are not returned.What does any of it matter?He would not acknowledge me.Heartless that to retain my positionI must pretend there is no other.[Disposable Poem October 19, 2011]Dr. Mike
For the record, today's photo is another one taken by my wife.
ReplyDeleteH. K.
A Geisha Withdraws Her Support
ReplyDeleteWisk-broom the threshold
So none of the dead can get back in --
None of the hungry
For whom lanterns were floated
Down estuaries of water-lilies.
In each paper boat, a message
Sent like money into smoke.
Its calligraphy In black ink
Smearing what was written.
What it said was a riddle,
One of the thousand grains of sand
That glistened in the desert
And were forgotten in the snow.
Perhaps it was a rejection
Of life, or an acceptance of change,
However remorseless time is
When children are not returned.
What does any of it matter?
He would not acknowledge me.
Heartless that to retain my position
I must pretend there is no other.
[Disposable Poem October 19, 2011]
Dr. Mike