Leaping the Heap

When I’m stuck in a pit of malaise
and self-pity flares up in a blaze,
I am forced to concede
that for lightness and speed
this old body has seen better days.

But my spirit’s not bound by the hide
that is holding my fragments inside.
When the flesh is enmeshed
in itself, I’m refreshed
by escaping the prison of pride.

 

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

Photo Source

View discussion on this poem.

The Fall of Hubris

climbing

There comes a time when, with a stalwart heart,
I plunge ahead, not looking left or right.
With clarity and purpose, from the height
of glowing certainty I can impart
a sacred sense of beauty, truth, and art.
Yes, there are times when, bathed in broad daylight,
I walk a weedless, unstrewn path. Insight
is painlessly acquired.  I’m feeling smart!

Inevitably, following the climb,
I tumble from the summit with a thud
and grapple in the guilt-infested slime,
surrendering illusions to the mud.
But mercy reigns above me all the time,
forgiveness measured out in love, not blood.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2000

Circular Furrows

furrows

Forgiveness beckons. Pride resists,
as inner demon fires are fed.
Insanity is made of this.

Creating nightmares, ego’s kiss
entwines with hate’s recurring thread.
Forgiveness beckons; pride resists.

Meticulously keeping lists
of grievances — all done and said,
insanity is made of this.

Without a compass, dreamers miss
the portal where the veil is shed.
Forgiveness beckons; pride resists.

Wake up! Decide to reminisce
on episodes that haven’t bred
insanity. It’s made of this:

Abolishment of quiet bliss;
retreat from roads where, straight ahead,
forgiveness beckons. Pride resists.
Insanity is made of this.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2006