We Are All Chosen

Another year
Only darkens the print
On our invitation.

Like a blade of grass
Pulled from its sheath,
We will be chosen.

The waxen shriek
The blade makes
As it reveals
Its pale, fleshy root

Is all the protest
We will make

As the root
Of our soul
Rises upward

And recombines
With its Source.

That we celebrate
The passage of time
Seems odd:

Time turns on us --
Why honor
That which betrays?

Because our ancient souls
Recognize this:
As we fell to Earth,
So are we all
Made to rise again.

We are all
Just passing through.

Time is simply
The river we ride
Through the realm
Of gravity,

Until we rise
Back toward
The Timeless.

This is your last

You have been chosen
To live in it.

Your ride continues.

May you ride
And well.

--Mr. Gobley


Julie VW said...

Happy New Year Mr. Gobley!

karen said...

Always beautiful!!!

I love sunflowers best. Happy New Year. I've missed you, mr. g.

Mr. Gobley said...

Julie vw: i thank you, and am glad you stopped by.

Karen: so good to hear from you again!

Happy New Year to you both.