contemplativeRecovery
Poem for Day 196 – 20150715
Possessions were the standard
of my success or failure.
Witness the parade of acquisitions,
stacked high and wide this day.
There was prize for the largest pile,
no way to take it when I'm pulled away.
I'll be remembered not for the things
I hold tight to me before I die.
Sickness gripped my plaintive self,
oh so much was not enough.
More and more did not remedy
the illness where my soul should be.
I was seeking myself in these things,
something to fulfill a hungry place.
To have felt like a remedy,
I was looking in places wrong.
A path forward presented itself,
creativity offered me integral repose.
To have and share became clear,
with the muse's help I would resolve.
Words would become my possessions
as I collected rhyming memories.
Poems spun into artful arrangements
would become what I would stack high.
Held and shared with the world,
prose would flow from a source,
touched by this mortal coil,
divinity inspired verse for all.
Words from my humble pen,
spilled ink to form a poem.
Words speak for me and you alike,
shared ground for lives shared.
Lives touched by lyrical marks,
invisible to most, felt by many,
a noble bequest to leave behind,
a soul's request to share a heart.
Now I use my tools of creativity,
spare surroundings supporting
a parade of shared sincerity
until that day I'm called beyond.
© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
