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The stink of death insinuates its way
Through every orifice and opening
Until the very freshness of the day
Seems strange unless corrrupted
By a young life interrupted
In its vigor and its prime.

This is no way to make a rhyme,
Clawing through reek of decayed time
The rotting of forgotten days
strewn about with thoughless ways
unheeded in entropic brew
a sweet solution of a deadly stew

So goes the dream, and so, undreamed, go I
In solitude beneath a leaden sky
Until the new organic voice arises
Transforming by a series of surprises
The stinking soil of ancient grief
Bringing to life a tender leaf
A sprout, unbidden, weeds its way
Above the stench, and greets the day
Renewed, alive, improbable, but true,
Flowers and blooms; a gift to me, from you.

(This ode to renewal,
written in midsummer,
anticipates the spring
amidst a renewed respect for compost,
and the winter’s beneficial attack
on the structure of what was,
not as a celebration
of the triumph of death and decay
but as a recognition
that life is unstoppable,
entropy is continually reversible,
nothing is final,
and life itself
transcends and includes
[to borrow a phrase]
the destruction that so tragically
precedes it.)


About therevr

A human being, striving to become more so.

Posted on August 18, 2006, in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Reading this poem again brought back wonderful memories of our experiences together.

    I sure could use another renewal some time soon, though!

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