within every lost love
a fruit of a splendid season
are seeds of invention;
a search for rich black soil,
a journey already begun.
Within every momentary sadness
is a joyful memory, gratitude for
a day of sun, a wishful dream.
Within the heart is a piece of stone
a marker of fallen life
and the mourners march
to slow beats pace, then quicken
race to windows where the Moon
makes a moment or stars
gleam into the sea so we know
the world spins, takes us with it
as love is a swirl beneath the waves; and
within the hard and flinty stone
is the power of fire
6 comments:
Love this truth here--everything is so much altogether--good and bad--happy, sad--that it is impossible to dissect anything. This is a keeper, Howard!
Thank you Susanne-
i agree so much to consider in parts but nothing is really apart-- it is a magnificent blend...thanks for the wonderful comment!...H
Exceptional as always!
Each stanza captures so beautifully the birth of hope from within man's despair and sorrows. Something is fully appreciated when one thinks it can be lost or when it is truly lost. Though, I think also as the earth continues to swirl, what is thought to be lost is still confined within the walls of time's fabric and will flourish whenever it finds the appropriate soil and this whatever it is good or bad. One have only to nurture the seeds of his/her expectations with what is expected from them to give later and they will give it back is some form or an other.
Spirit of Wonder
@ Fountain Pen
-Thank you !-
for taking time to leave such a lovely and thoughtful comment. I agree -the true poetry of life is hope, the spirit within...H
I love the wisdom of this poem - teaching or, better to say, reminding us in a gentle and unobtrusive way that every loss contains seeds of new finding, every sad moment spawns the joy that will inevitably follow. So insightful and so true, thank you!
sometimes life is like this weather--stuck in the last of winter and so wishing and wanting the spring...it all comes in time...
thank you so much Maryna...H
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