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Monday, June 06, 2005

  

Water Over Stone

WATER OVER STONE





So much of our lives are built upon ruin

From periodic shocks we fail to see coming;

These dark cabbages blend in with the night.



It takes so little to mollify our sadness in disaster;

We spend the hours singing, afterwards we realize

The tally of our life is built on pain, we agree to this.



Each pain we face is like a toll booth; we have

Safe passage until the next toll must be paid; Pain

Is concatenated with joy on the necklace of our days.



It is difficult for light to pass from our head to toe;

So much flesh of desire muffles our slow bones

That we forget that spirit is not as dense as we are.



The fruits we reach for contains a hard stone inside;

We forget we must eat thistle and brittle things too;

For this we are turtle shelled by the carapace of ego.



Finally the clay pot containing spirit is shattered

And we realize that for the most part it hoarded pain;

The waters of life pour over stones and brittle things.