Short Story
The long and short of it is . . . forever
and a day - one day at a time
Life is short and as long as you make it long
A bit like sensual sex whatever tickles your fanny
Like pleasure and happiness or hard work all along
She remembers that there is no cure for that love in you
And you alone or together are the curator of healing
Sui generis suicide does not work at all it’s a killjoy
Yet Ego-cide helps on the slumbering journey of living
Petit morts keep coming while suspense dangles beauty
And home is its castle a fortress of feeling and thought
Kim had come a long way on that wayward path
Flowers by the roadside and serpents calling
Serpentines snuggling up the mountains
Encroaching valleys with midday sun only
Eclipses and climax cliff faces falling from grace
A waterhole in the heat and all streams flowing
Wetlands and lowlands surpassing shivering swells
Towards oceans of fortuity courage and swirls of the sea
She had not been blessed enough yet to make sense
Of all in the vastness and treasures of passing with an
Overwhelming sense of splendour and lack just the same
Irritation in cautious dereliction of duty bound loss
Tickled her privileged being and called for a prayer
‘Where is the meaning the purpose a sense of my breaths?’
She meets a Buddha under some trees or was it a nun
Nonetheless a sage of sorts shining a light on abandonment
‘Do not get sad about it for melancholy kills all endeavour’
‘Hurt not any sentient being and caress the awakening Self’
‘It is about breathing light and shadows in search of the rainbow’
Kim solemnly bows naked forlorn enlightened and grateful
Minds her business forgoes power money success and contempt
Entwined harmony’s contradictions its synthesis and demise
‘My unanswered questions have led me but where’ she ponders
Empties her pockets gives to a beggar and faces eternity’s truth
Only death will tell when all is one and one Karma reveals what?
The whole point of these travels is finding the compass of magic
In imperfection and uncertainty in wondrous jest and attainment
One day most likely quite near the end in a marvel of beginning
It will become clear wholesome and meant as it had to ensue in
That short story of life and yet when epitaphs shine as a prologue
While a requiem sorts the dust between poetry and mist in the sky
One thing is certain in that which keeps coming is going and fast
The long and short of it is . . . forever
and a day - one day at a time
As her hand awakes from a dream as the clock keeps ticking
And Her fingers firmly grasp the caress of letting go of her past
Kim concludes that moments will change but senses will not . . .
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