amber rumpled holiness skin ancient bones invisible weep chambers three seeds spiral
Chambers of Amber
No rumpled memories of you for me,
They are sharp and crystal clear.
I daily miss you desperately
And most readily shed a tear.
When I look at what life gave to you
And took you early from this place
I struggle with those fine purveyors
Of holiness, divinity and grace.
I miss the contact, intimate, of skin
On willing skin; a spoon affair.
Holding you in that warm embrace,
Flesh on flesh, the odour of your hair.
I wept for you but weep for me
As I wander through this land
A stranger now set free (an odd idea)
With no-one here to hold my hand.
We are a bag of meat and bones
A thinking pot roast, presented lightly,
So what is that unseen essence,
That holds my heart so tightly?
Ancient wisdom, Seneca of course, says
Be strong, love what is, just be.
It is the seed of a future that is to come.
But how can I release the past when it is me?
What’s past is past and cannot change
Like amber that entombs a gnat or three
It just remains suspended tightly there
As a loving, cherished memory.
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