
Life bleeds through
fragile fingertips,
too powerless
and too late
to inspire a change
in the caustic rhythm
of love and loss,
oozing between the layers
of conflicted dreams,
fermenting within
the cauldron
of weary minds
too stubborn to quit
yet too exhausted to persevere,
hovering between collapse and success,
between rapture and distress,
as I wait for them to come back to me.
I wait for the tide to recede,
for the wind to blow,
for the Earth to transform
these tumbling moments
into something unconditional.
I wait for climbing souls
to turn around and
look at the view
brewing between
certainty and doubt.
I wait for a time
when restless spirits
come home to sleep, to work,
to love, to lose,
to tend to the past
like a wounded warrior
while embracing the present
with the nourishing attention
of someone who chooses
to fight for life over
succumbing to death.
Renee Novosel
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2016
Classic Renee! ‘As I wait for them to come back to me.’ A sudden entrance of rich meaning which unfolds in the next lines. Time, rhythm, tending to the past, embracing the present, all really concern me. On these things, T.S. Eliot’s Burnt Norton and Psalm 71 speak to me.
Thank you, Luke! It felt so good to finally have time to post again!