For the few, life is a stroll in the park.
Though there are distractions,
....amusement and laughter abound.
An occasional bump or bruise
....distracts from the fun.
Anticipation awaits the next day.
Thoughts of departing this earth are abhorrent
....for what could be better.
Others find the journey
....far more strenuous.
Deep, dark, dank jungles engulf them.
The sun's rays seldom pierce the canopied floor.
Instead monsoon rains
....beat and pelt their skin
....whether from the saturated flora
....or in the clearings,
....far and few.
A peaceful sleep is seldom known.
They count the days.
For most, the trail runs
....through valleys and mountains.
Highs on some days,
....lows on others,
....and in-between on many.
Tears flow with loss.
Smiles broaden with celebrations.
Through health and sickness
....they comprehend that these
....are the trappings of life.
For without the valleys,
....the views from the peaks
....would go unnoticed.
A select few experience the journey
....with few trappings.
Life, its joys and sorrows,
....are mere creations of the mind.
Pain and suffering, laughter and happiness,
....fleeting to the grasp.
Instead, their days merge
....into the eternal flow of cosmic energy.
Their spirit is one with the Creator.
Comment: Each of us can find ourselves in one or more of the scenarios above. In the last stanza I am referring to the mystics or holy men and women who devote their lives to meditation around the clock. Some even reach a state where food and sleep are options, not requirements.
Similar words commanded to Lazarus,
....as he arose from the grave.
Words that speak to us today.
....and let the heat of day
....soak your skin.
Allow the emerald greens
....to bring a grin to your face.
Embrace your love,
....and feel the warmth
....flow through the veins.
Shout, as perhaps Lazarus shouted,
....“I am alive!”
Whether old and feeble
....or young and virile,
....whether sick or healthy,
Let the words of the hymn
....reverberate throughout your being,
....“How can I keep from singing?”
Comments: Yes, I realize that sometimes the ability to be upbeat is tough, especially when suffering. This poem was written during a time I was suffering great physical pain. It helped me move beyond the pain, if only briefly.
So much time spent
....in these ubiquitous task.
Stoplights, stop signs,
....breakfast meeting companions.
The list appears endless.
Even now, I wait
....for an ending to this poem.
Comment: After two heavy poems, you needed a light one.