world poetry day
Dancing Through Each Day
It hit me one Autumn morning;
As I shuddered to a halt.
All future plans went up in smoke;
And my past became just vague memories.
My mental Juggernaut ran out of gas;
Is this what death feels like I wondered.
For those whose time is up;
A terminal condition diagnosed and delivered.
No pretty words to save us;
In fact, no words at all.
Yet, all was calm, all is calm.
No panic, no breakdown.
Just a reminder of what is real;
And who I am not.
A still-point in a moving world;
A silent pause in a long line of chatter.
An alignment in time and space;
When all cycles cancel each other out.
The rhythms pick up;
Whose rhythms I’m not sure.
Rhythms of cells, of souls, of universes;
Dynamic as if by Grace.
New rhythmic cycles begin to unfold;
Dancing through each day.
© David R. Durham
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