Origin

William_Blake_Eve_Tempted_by_the_Serpent

Did Planet Earth evolve from random bits
of space debris intensively colliding
in willy-nilly fashion as befits
the current state of omnipresent fighting?

Does the existence here of you and me
derive from Capricana’s first manned landing?
A Legend of Creation holds the key
for those demanding doubtless understanding.

Before a single footprint punched the soil
foreshadowing humanity’s uniqueness,
a serpent was positioned to uncoil
the moment opportunity met weakness.

The Maker softly sighed and shook Her head,
“I wish I’d fashioned something else instead.”

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2017

Image Source

 

The Moving Finger Pauses

vintage-cassette-tape

I’ve often wished (who hasn’t?) for a chance
to press the rewind button, start again
and choose a different partner for the dance
of fickle youth to play what might have been.

Instead of giving circumstances reign,
I’d tap the hidden track of inner peace
and circumvent the path that leads to pain;
let static fade and harmony increase.

But tempting though it be to theorize
on rearranging compositions past,
each segment is a lesson in disguise
that can’t be altered once the program’s cast.

And focusing on tapes that self-repeat
defines the formula for soul-defeat.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2012

Remorse

sunset-on-the-river

I never bribed a judge;
I never killed a bird,
yet I have broken promises
and shot a poison word.

I never robbed a bank;
I never beat a kid,
yet I have stolen joie de vivre
and trampled where it hid.

Without an inner guide
to curb the karmic debt,
an overblown “I never would”
becomes an “I regret.”

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2011

Public Domain Photo

In Your Grief

dried-red-roses

My arms are reaching out; my eyes are wet.
If I but had a repertoire replete
with healing words of comfort, could I meet
your loss and cancel out the heavy debt
of anguish? From the chasm of regret,
my heart goes rushing out on stumbling feet
to offer something tangible and sweet.
I can’t. I haven’t walked that valley yet.

But there is One who’s equal to the task.
He knows each upturned pebble on the trail,
just like the back of His own blood-soaked hands
that purchased every tear. Because you ask,
He’ll guide you through the Valley of Travail,
or carry you. He can. He understands.

———

cc-by-nc-ndMary Boren,  2000