Coffeepot
The coffeepot sits forlorn,
absent aroma, in the kitchen.
When you walk again with me,
daffodils will bloom.
I depend on the promise
of their green fingers rising.
The coffeepot sits forlorn,
absent aroma, in the kitchen.
When you walk again with me,
daffodils will bloom.
I depend on the promise
of their green fingers rising.
ehj2 wrote:
it feels like my life is more real with you in it.
i ponder this and the meaning of completeness.
and the meaning of wholeness.
it feels like i experience myself in your eyes.
the words are true yet banal and they reek of childlike madness.
i see myself more clearly through you.
why should my most open eyes be in your body?
did She make the cosmos to experience Herself in it?
to interact in some deep incomprehensible way from both within and without?
wouldn’t both always be present?
is this the same as the heavens and the earth?
the within and the without?
can we breathe in and feel one, and breathe out and know the other?
what other metaphors could possibly be allowed us?
the buddhists might say
we are complete … yet we need the mirror
to see the self within the pearl.
what do i know?
it feels like my life is more real with you in it.
i clutch this strange truth in the depths of my soul
like a man who has lashed himself to a creaking mast on a failing ship
in the ravening storms of a benighted world.
/ehj2
Posted on 28-Feb-06 at 9:40 pm | Permalink
jo(e) wrote:
I love the image of the green fingers rising. Nice.
Posted on 02-Mar-06 at 12:31 pm | Permalink