Sunday, 19 May 2013

19. Ripples



When we are dead
And nestled under the ground
Or scattered over favourite seas
And special places -
The mountain will say nothing
The trees will not moan
And the river will be moving slowly
For someone else. 

All that you know
All the thoughts you have owned
Will pass into nothing.
Only your vacated body
Will provide sacred compost
For those that inherit the earth.
And only those things you created
In the minds of your children,
In the people you touch,
In the art you leave behind,
Will show you have been here
And that you loved.


We are 
              the stones
                                that sink 
                                               when flung
                                                                  into this
                                                                                still lake.
If we give 
                our living
                                                                         let velocity 
and passion
                                 us forwards
                                                      without restraint -
                                                                                   it may be
                                                                                                   that our 
                                                                                 will reach from
                                                           bank to bank
                                          to be felt
                          by those
       we never 
                                        through the 
                                                                    of our own
                                                                                    comet tail light
                                                                                                                    their heaven.

(This poem was partly inspired by Irvin Yalom's psychotherapy text on death anxiety "Staring At the Sun", which talks about the notion of Rippling - what we leave behind us as a comfort in the face of death and a means by which we can seize our lives). 

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