Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Linger


My laughter is a hopeful beat
waiting out the ponderous heat
that warms and spills,
ever like coffee on my lapel,
as it slips soulfully into my throats
tight spaces.

Let this eye remain dry
because I will it so.
I know that pressure mounted,
spring-loaded consciousness
forever brushing my hair
out of my squinting eyes.

There is a book within my pauses
so many histories recorded
while I sat or rested, softly,
staring into the back of my brain
conjuring dreams and confrontations
with the vespers of my battles.

My past is one ponder repeated
never quite completed…or forgotten.
I finger gently the worn trails of it
accustomed to each line that flows
from my heart to my head,
and back again.

How to explain that this is not solemnity
but a comfort, a blessed sacred,
a soothing realm that knows me
and doesn’t care
if I stare overlong at it
wondering at its presence and its particulars.

 

3 thoughts on “Linger

  1. Awesome. I especially love
    “My past is one ponder repeated
    never quite completed…or forgotten.
    I finger gently the worn trails of it
    accustomed to each line that flows
    from my heart to my head,
    and back again.”

    Great poem. Thanks for sharing. 🙂

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