A beautifully sculped poem,straight from the heart a bullseye joe
theresa

"live the moment do not be superior to reality,embrace it!!"
Theresa

Ha,ha,ha.
Tx

On Realising my mortalty.

I to am afraid ro die,
I to an afraid to die,
for the clouds they are low,
and the waves much to high,
I to am afraid to die

I to am afraid to live,
I to an afraid to live,
for my pockets are empty and I have nothing to give,
I too am afraid to live

I to an afraid to hate,
I to am afraid to hate,
for the door it is locked and I will never kick down the gate,
I to am afraid to hate

I to am afraid to love,
I to am afraid to love,
for this wild golden eagle turned into a dove,
I to am afraid to love

I to am afraid to die,
I to am afraid to die,
for the clouds they are low,
and the waves much to high,
I to am afraid to die.

Tx

The shepardess.

Beneath some laberinth youll find her,
stiring the sea,into storm with her hand,
tasting the blue through her fingertips,
then seeing the sheep agrazing ,
on a hillock above where you stand,
she will tell you the shepard has gone,
and the wolf he plays by the door,
but he will return,he will return ,
at the sound of her rosewood horn.

She must first capture the pale moon rising,
and enclose it in the wind,then seeing it bleed through anothers eyes,
the grazing sheep which are bleating ,
will here the shephard call,
from a nearby hill ,
the wolven pack will flee from the door,
and he will return,he will return,
to the call of her rosewood horn.
T(an ordinary woman)

This is a really beautifully written poem so sensitive it moves me.
T(an ordinary woman)

Thank you for the hug it is gratefully received and returned a hundred fold.
T

Very,very good reflection on death.I read most days small bits from the tibetan book of living and Dying and do more meditation than is probably good for me.
In a personal retreat today focusing on the poem by Shantidevi it really is very good and reflects some of what you have said in this poem you know.
Have a good day,
T(an ordinary woman)

To the Fisherman

Should necessity be in the forming crowd,
to turn around and wander by,
thinking of long forgotton waves,
of talking winds that speak no change,
of children ,singing,while the lilies die,
hands ajoined in a circle formed.

Though the children sing the lilies are dead,
though the children sing the lilies are dead,
yet the sea will not give up her sons.

Should the sons of the sea have gone down to the deep,
darkened like memories dead,
we still dance round the maypole
neath the waterfall,
as life weaves about us
her tapastry of blue.

Though the children sing thr lilies are dead,
though the children sing the lilies are dead,
yet,the sea will not give up her sons.

"T" an ordinary woman