Sunday, September 23, 2018
Going––poem by Doroty
Going
I do not know
if this is
an ending
or a beginning,
a sunset or a sunrise,
or just a dream that started
some time ago, unknown,
unsequenced, unexplained.
Already the present
is fading,
I am ceasing to
care about things
deemed so important
before,
hurrying to let go,
dispose of the tangibles,
the connections.
Once more standing
on the cliff's edge,
poised to hurl over
into vastness,
undelineated, unknown.
The trapeze artist
releases,
swings into space
not knowing if the
next hold
will be waiting
or not,
or is merely a delusion.
a hazy beckoning
to lure you into
undefined space.
Yet he lets go,
traces the arc of air,
grips the bar in time,
knows it is always there.
Dorothy Walters
September 23, 2018
Note: I wrote this poem this morning before I read Ted's entry. Synchronicity?
