By Gub (Eden Holme, 14 July 2025)
And when they say
Truth is a circle
Arriving as it does
at the precise
Point of departure
It’s a path
That returns
And Enriches
Us Again
A Rediscovered
Trail
That destination
Unsought,
not manufactured
Comets
Don’t lie
Their heavens
Herald
flight of angels
passengers
In benevolent
Ruses
And time
space
And life
That endless
Speculation
Of god, of man,
Of whose muse
Is whose ?
Let me die here
In the quiet of a night
Sky
Blossomed by a heatwave in
Mid-July
The earths heat
Keeps the icy
Weight
Of that dark celestial
Berg
At bay
And beneath my feet
My dog lies
Tongue stilled
On jaws of
Sleep
And the Sun
Not yet born
In the heat
Of a new day …
If peace had a sound
It would be a quiet whisper
Of love
The chant of all the lullabies
Sung to dying babes
The crisp white linen
That falls around
A still corpse,
The lifeless
Demure
Body that
ghosts
Gift
The living
Something
To pray for
As if awakening
From death had some purpose
When the passage of life’s
Reward is the bequest
Of matter
Back to our maker
Ashes to dust
And dust to ashes
Each ember a star
In the fire ….
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