It’s Monday, so I am bringing you poetry. I was recently reminded of a few things I needed desperately to remember. I’m coming back to me, or coming to something better. Or … Does it matter? The words are here below. Let them be enough.
these my sandcastles and I
I have constructed with resplendent care
these sandcastles of my mortality,
have made a kind of beauty in the variety,
of the shapes and sizes and spiers,
built so close to the water’s edge,
tempting ocean in my pride,
these my sandcasthles and I.
There surely, surely, to die.
Violent ocean’s break across tranquil shore
strikes against shifting foundation,
dissolves the walls of idealed satisfaction,
of the supposed and known and trusted,
forged from self-assurance and couterfeit wisdom,
lost now, crumbled domains,
once my certainties, now my shame.
There surely, surely, to die.
Engulfing tide errupted upon plain
drags into its depths the fabricated surites,
makes out of mortal toil vague obsenties,
of the frivolity and grandeur and pomp,
leaving behind an exposed, barren waste,
while suddenly caught in the tide
down to the depths plunged am I.
There surely, surely, to die
–but.
Comes a voice and with it light:
“Awake, awake, recieve thy sight.”
In this Light is all light seen
where mortal labor is rightly lost,
soul’s long-striving replete with the cost
of the One who was and is and shall–
hath claimed!–this, yes this, tattered mortal as Ocean’s own,
there I to dwell as watered pearl within the Sea,
there I to be the dropplet in Him, and He the breath in me.
© 2011, Preston. All rights reserved.
