the world and I, le petit mort

Once when I had a room I snuck past bedtime
And climbed in the cold roof of our home.
The stars are all above me, seeds of our birth,
scattered in the womb of the void
embracing us when we close our eyes
and drown in its loving arms.
I reached out into the emptiness
and saw my fingers turn into the void
with starlight dots in the sheet of existence
waiting to be connected together
by the flow of blood and sparks.

I am part of the void.
I often forget I am.

For the void is alive
and its bursting with the echoes
of the primordial orgasm
that pushes and pulls
us against our skin
waking us into the beauty
that is the sun,
like us,

a near eternal day.

This week’s poetry theme is entitled, “writing summer”. This is poem No. 1.

And a repeated announcement: I am now preparing most of my poetry in advance in preparation for the looming possibility of life’s busy jaws chewing me into its stomach of responsibilities. Am I to crawl myself out of it, or give in to its acid juices, offering my body and soul for its nourishment?

Of course I’ll never give up dreaming and I’ll never give up writing and I’ll never give up poetry. And I’ll never give up. For these things have long been part of me and my connection with the heavens above and the memories around me.

But that means no daily prompt poems for a really long while. I don’t know when I’ll be back in this tradition, but I am glad to still be attracting readers, no matter how few, even when I am out of the pinglist. Thank you my readers. I hope that my words will enlighten some corners of this strange and wonderful life we all share.

And I hope that someday, I’ll write something others will share far and wide. Someday. Someday.


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