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Robert Ludden. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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Reflections of a Tired Soul
I wasted so much time
dragging this body shell around
and living for the expectation
it was due. You see, I realized
the truth too late in my allotmment
of material experience. It was
exploitation of naievete, I think.
I'm not the better for it, nor
may I be consoled that any chunk
of universe is wiser, or enhanced
by one brief flash--of I.
What then is left...
a dieing crush of bones and of regret?
What may I serve?
What vestiges remain of a
cosmic stopover that may not
have worked too well?
We may yet learn.
Those old, bedraggled marchers still
await a last parade...there is light there.
I have the shell; I have the moment
to reflect. I have the peace.
I have the everlasting now,
into which I pour this crumbling soul,
this shell that I did not create,
but knew. I let it stew.
And mine it is to watch,
to care for, to wonder at.
See, it is the wonder I am given--
diminished bones and all.
With the closing of my eyes,
it is there; the miracle is there.
Always, it is there.