The universe in its entirety,
all the living, all the dying,
in the delicate countenance,
from nascence to withering,
of a single petal of rose,
or the astral abode
keeping you afloat,
forging your complacence,
as you pander to the playground
of earthbound impatience,
forgetting to be grateful
for still being a meanigful
droplet in the celestial goblet,
a speck, but one
that has only to look up
and smile in earnest
at a sea-dipped sun...
Wed 21st Sep 2022 02:17
Thank you so much, John and Jennifer, for your lovely comments, they are genuinely encouraging! 😊💗
Really beautiful language, so delicate and expressive. Lovely.
I loved it all but particularly
and smile in earnest
at a deep-dipped sun.
Super poem, Holden!
Sat 17th Sep 2022 02:59
Thank you so much, Stephen, your kind comment means a lot! 😊
'A meaningful droplet in the celestial goblet' is a memorable phrase, Holden. Enjoyed this.
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John Marks
Wed 26th Oct 2022 18:55
Hello Holden. This poem of yours put me in mind of the final paragraph of 'The Dead' the final story in James Aloysius Joyce's collection 'Dubliners' , a paragraph that adumbrates much of Joyce's future writing:
"Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, further westwards, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling too upon every part of the lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
Every time I read this, I cry for all the living and all the dead.