2017-01-04

Held

held_poem

A dear friend of mine recently described her new found love for ballet. She felt silly in her enthusiasm because she was a novice and knew nothing about the technical aspects of the dance, she just knew she loved it. That’s how I feel about poetry. There is a naive joy in it for me.

Held

As I sink
deeper into the snow,
I feel utterly held.

My mood lightens,
body and mind soften,

despite
a mild hangover—

that is like a murky veil
blocking me from what’s beyond.

As I fall further
into this suspension,

I drift back to
my dreams,

to a wordless conversation
with bears, birds and snakes—

a kinship I wish to carry over
into waking life.

In this moment
of solace,

I’m reminded
of a poem that’s been floating around in my mind.

It goes something like this;

Why is it
that I insist
on grand signs from God?

When the moments
I feel most connected

are as simple — and profound

as the vibration
of that dying moth
on my finger…

or the rustling of the grass
against the snow
that holds me
in Love.

–Mariah

Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest Share to Tumblr

1 comment:

Post a Comment

Current day month ye@r *

 

Everything Golden ©  Theme by Blog Milk + Coded by Krista Rae