I stand on this ridge
seeing until Appalachian boulders
are swallowed by mist.
Bagpipes, sounds from some movie,
play in my memory, a reminder
that loneliness has a sound.
I zip my jacket, tighten my hood.
Even winter dies
eventually.
I stand on this ridge
seeing until Appalachian boulders
are swallowed by mist.
Bagpipes, sounds from some movie,
play in my memory, a reminder
that loneliness has a sound.
I zip my jacket, tighten my hood.
Even winter dies
eventually.
Posted in Poetry
So true. SO beautiful. Everything that is born will eventually die. But it is through the same loneliness can we see that within us, our real self, which does not know birth nor death.
By: Sumedh Prasad on February 23, 2009
at 1:09 pm
Just passing by.Btw, your website have great content!
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By: Mike on March 1, 2009
at 4:49 pm
Thank you, Sumedh,
Your words are always appreciated and so very true. Thank you for reminding me.
By: nochipa on March 5, 2009
at 1:08 pm