The meal of my life
I scrabble around in the pit of my stomach
pawing around at the scraps of a meal
wondering now, how I thought it so tasty
looking so rancid, was "it" ever real?
my life takes a turn for the worse or the better
feeding my hopes with old shattered dreams
How could it be that "these" recent fractions
sustained my "soul", my "ego", my "me"?
So as I collect my thoughts from the refuse
sifting away all the dross from my toil
I stumble across a clear cool reflection
bright in the moonlight, crisp in the dawn
The eye that is focussed, the senses so agile
waiting to see what the new day will bring
alert to the meal to soon be presented
sating the hunger of this turning wheel
And when I am fed will I feel "oh so nourished"
will I abandom my fears of the past?
Or will I seek wider and farther and further
piercing illusion, digesting at last.
LT - 31st July 2004