Bitter can be A good digestif, for a meal once mixed with melody but eaten too quickly changes the tone of the Medicine, for a belly now full of sorrow. If you must, My dear. Yet if I choose not the bitter pill and give my sorrow to the wind, Quietly weep from time to time, But not wilt, no, and seek not to psychologize the sorrow, This pain, for a sense of power, a structured sense of knowing, Does my ability to play, laugh, smile, cry, dance With the babes in a ring so rosy, while I mourn the loss of precious dreams and touching moments need to be painted as crazy fantasy? Ah, the babes... I bend with the willow breathe fully in the breeze, Let the sun warm my face and keep fond memories tucked in my skirt pocket, to sway with the gust, And trust the unknown. I caress and stroke the Cherubic rounds of their cheeks and laugh ridiculously As one pokes its finger in my ear, And tickle a sing song of love because it never dies. A mothers love has room for woe And can choose not to advertise. Could it be that this is how I find my center? Could it be that my mystery, that which is unknown fully even to me should never and can never be extracted? Bitters always invite and reinforce the Need for bitter. Let it go.
Posted on: Sun, 06 Apr 2014 13:40:21 +0000
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