And is this what all my best efforts—
My highest aspirations
And meager achievements,
The joys and sorrows and stops and starts,
The world-building and storytelling
And dreaming of dreams
And befriending of friends
The words, words, words
(flying out like endless rain into a paper cup)—
Is this what it all
Amounts to in the end:
A smudge of dust and ash
Smeared across the brow,
Teaching everyone who looks at me
To number well my days?
May it be so.
And if so, may that ash be
Fragrant with great delight
And shadowed with the darkest of loves
Smouldering with profound hope
And set just so, on the skin, above the eyes
To accentuate the twinkle of the iris.
May it be so,
And may I wear it well until I hear Him
Call my name at last.
Ash Wednesday (a poem)
Labels: poetry
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment