...in...hale...ex...hale...

When threatened with an absence of life’s essence,
we grab out where we can,
cling to primal effervescence.

Pure panic produces piety
when under a threat of death,
to quell our expelled anxiety
we hold on to Brighid’s* breath.

In streets of pandemonium
devastated by Death’s bell,
blooms the Chrysanthemum**
a bit of Heaven amidst Hell.

Just one more breath
before the dying day’s gone,
given over to the kiss of Death
a memory of long gone dawn:

planted, secure, in my arms
is an organic bit of hope,
for salvation from harms
a tender vine-like rope:

This too shall pass
there is an end to the storm
a return to lush grass
caressed by the sun so warm.

...in...hale...ex...hale...
~
NM
01/31/21