Poetry

I picked up a book last night at the library: "Celebrations: Rituals of Peace and Prayer" by Maya Angelou. I especially love her poems because, like her, they are elegant and eloquent; graceful and dignified.

I especially liked this one because it makes me think about my dear friend Mike, who died in October. I'm still grieving. Hard. Grieving takes so much time. I'm learning I have to let myself go through it -- without judgements -- and, at the same time, I have to keep moving forward, remind myself to be grateful for the time... that I was lucky to have him and know love in my life.

 

 

"When Great Trees Fall"

 

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

 

When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

 

When great souls die,

the air around us

becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe briefly.

our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words unsaid,

promised walks never taken.

 

Great souls die and our reality,

bound to them,

takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance,

fall away.

We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark,

cold

caves.

 

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always irregularly.

Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never to be the same,

whisper to us, They existed.

They existed.

We can be.

Be and be better.

For they existed.