Poem -

Soil, Spindle, Soul

What My Father Left Behind

Soil, Spindle, Soul

It gets the best of me sometimes
The yearning for more, but also for less
Is it possible to love life, but to also crave death?
I am sickly twisted in-between
The dangers of living and the black sleep
I dance with skates on thin, grey ice
Exercising my rights to give, or to give up
The lacey veil layering over thoughts of threading it all together
Have I done it?
Lived half dying, or letting go – breath by breath
Every molecule of oxygen I breathe
Does it come, just leave my lungs; bitter sweet
To gasp for another throat full of air
For me to pronounce words, but pretend they were never there – Disappearing into the atmosphere
Leaving my soul – the truth sinks in
Will I ever entirely escape the need to stand on top of churning waters?
Or the dream that I will soar with feathered wings?
If part of me is intertwined with the brinks of life and death
How will I ever experience the full capacity to know the distinction of not wondering or, holding guilt?
So, I must conclude
The connection of the spindle and the thread, as well as the soil
Sewing a bag to carry dirt was a misfortunate thing for me to do
I got nothing from the years of lifting it off the ground for you
But, the yearning for more – it never stops
The separation
The ashes that are the bridging you from earth to somewhere else
This is where the living- life and dying-death do meet
The deer trail between you and me
Hidden, near Bear Creek somewhere
You lived.
I reap.

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