RUBY
A ruby lies at the bottom of a pit —
will I throw myself down to get it?
I can glimpse its far off gleam
(or do I think it’s all a dream?)
I’ve heard about the ruby’s size
and long considered it a prize
But is it a real yearning to get it
Moment by moment not forget it?
Or because others tout its rare beauty
I’d throw myself down so absolutely?
How do I know they tell the truth
and not fabrication out of whole cloth?
That I should expend myself completely
to the point of annihilation sweetly
envisioned as stretched among glorious stars
in God’s Holy Radiance beyond what appears
Though such pursuit and such extravagance
is really the essence of life’s happenstance
in continuous circles from our initial birth
beyond death that signals our exit from earth
leaving the womb as we’ll have to leave
this world’s textures and intricate weave
for another more silvery jewel-like fact
arrived at by death’s transitional act
up down or out in such a ruby-filled pit
in order to overwhelmingly embrace it
1/29/2010
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(from: Stretched Out on Amethysts )
|
For
me the province of poetry is a private ecstasy made public, and
the social role of the poet is to display moments of shared universal
epiphanies capable of healing our sense of mortal estrangement—from
ourselves, from each other, from our source, from our destiny, from
The Divine.
