If you are down and feeling blue,
Then this thought is meant for you.
Always remember . . .

Love can mend the broken

My Sun,
You were my perihelion
But I got badly burned.
In the rarified air I fell.
My crash to earth, dramatic.
In time scars thickened,  
Desires weakened.  Yet,
The damage was done.

Lov-v-v-ve, the word on the tongue
Vibrates as a bee does before it stings
"With love's light wings
did I o'er perch these walls."
Then, the fall.

Deat-th-th-th, an imagined voice of serpents
"Th-th-th", as it slithers upon the dust of earth.
O, precious love & life!  O, sting, life's dearth.
Did those lovers prove Love's worth?
When oft you straddle walls you fall.

Lif-f-f-fe, even the sound is ephemeral,
A mist.  Just as the object is itself.
Not unlike a mystery book on the shelf
There is death within all of us.
Though for some, early, the fall.

O, these remaining echoes of you
My distant Bell, calling me to worship.

All things turn golden at sunset.  It is
The nature of daylight at day's dawning

That the start & end should be mellowed.
Yet, that distant bell reverberates

And echoes on through time
As I kneel at your alter,
Straining to hear echoes of you.

Author Raymond Chandler left a poem
Only found after his death.  It read:
“There is a moment after death when the face is beautiful
When the soft, tired eyes are closed, and the pain is over.”

The Psalmist said, "For he well knows how we are formed,
Remembering that we are dust."
And, Job cried out, "Remember, please,
That you made me out of clay,
But now you make me return to dust."

Did not Isaiah give insight?
“Your dead will live.
My corpses will rise up.
Awake and shout joyfully,
You residents in the dust!
For your dew is as the dew of the morning,
And the earth will let those powerless in death come to life."

Indeed, there is a certain beauty in the release at death,
And, in the remaining echoes of who we were.
Yet, there is greater beauty in life.
Regenerate, oh, you dust!  Live, again!

Ah.  There is so much uncertainty in life.
Jobs come and go. Kids grow up and leave.
Friendships form and fade,
As we all walk towards the grave.

Yet, you are here, now, and
I can count on your presence tomorrow, also.
When you are here, I know everything is in its right place.
At least at the end of day we will share this space.

Spires of dreams, space,
Time, to see beyond the seen,
A fourth dimension,
Daily we take a quantum leap.
Spacetime is just a mathematical object.
Who can escape the hanging pendulum?
Back and forth it and we go.
Does time flow at different rates
At different points in space?
Time relative to beyond the known,
General relativity predicts
What is yet unpredictable.
Is life itself just a mathematical theory?
In spires of dreams all is possible.