Almost Worthy

The silent tear
and its companion,
slipping away
from a hidden river
subterranean,

an inner well
I wish to visit,
I pay the obol
but am refused
admission.

I touch the solution
risen to the surface,
released to me
at the green-galactic
entrance.

It absorbs, vanishes,
as if it were only
imagination,
but I know it exists within,
the ancient pool
of my essence
preservation,

disturbed
by a pressure,
a fissure,
from the near past,
a conflict of interest
to who I am

attempting to contaminate
the purity of my heart’s intentions,
sent from the sacred waters
to get my attention:

two harbinger drops
to warn of the bubbling,
but how can I mend
the underground rupturing

when I cannot access
the pre-war,
cannot reverse time
to remove the source

that lies beyond
the lies
in layers
of conditioning,
beneath the protection
of pain
self-buried?

Desperate, kneeling,
thoughts begin spinning,
I get dizzy
in the spiraling,
plead for the ripples
to take me down
into the spring.

“I want to go there!
I want to come!
Let me face
what I know not
head on!

I am brave!
I am strong!”

The portal
closes shut.

What more must I do
to be worthy
enough?

Always Surmountable

We are never trapped,
just fated to faulty perspective,
succumb to specious perception;
it’s all relevant, related –

one more rock-move away
from the light
on the other side
of the avalanche,

one more “wrong” turn
lost in the forest
before hearing
the anabranch…

much is necessarily experienced:

near suffocation sometimes the only way
to motivate a life-saving change,

the legs of the journey
in the humanless woods
lead to the reflection
and feeling of wounds,

and all paths probably have purpose
among the universe’s higher powers.

Without the lonely, looping trails,
we could not emerge anew
with our truest selves

and others we met along the way
not-so-coincidentally placed.

We are never trapped.
We are never lost.
At least not for very long.

No change was ever ignited
without the spark.
So many opportunities
missed, passed up, though
after being gifted matchsticks
but still refusing to start
the fire.

Last Leaves

stubborn refusal
to submit, to fade, to fall–
last red leaves clinging

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Glorious Day, Glorious Me

I match my gait to the beat of my buds,

a dance in my step, arms raise up

like wings against the spring wind:

I become invincible (once again).

The trees seem to bow before me as I pass;

no selfies, only Nature do I photograph,

except when I think of capturing my shadow—

wind-whipped, flying, part human, part eagle.

Of course, a heart-shaped, hot-air-balloon cloud floats by

to widen my smile with symbolism, a recognized sign.

Peace and harmony and mutual respect

are the consistent qualities of my nature relationship.

Yesterday’s lows give way to today’s highs

as I leave my shadow to continue on

and ascend to the sky for a time…