Short Story

The long and short of it is . . . forever and a day - one day at a time Life is short and as long as you make it long A bit like sensual sex whatever tickles your fanny Like pleasure and happiness or hard work all along She remembers that there is no cure for that love in you And you alone or together are the curator of healing Sui generis suicide does not work at all it’s a killjoy Yet Ego-cide helps on the slumbering journey of living Petit morts keep coming while suspense dangles beauty And home is its castle a fortress of feeling and thought Kim had come a long way on that wayward path Flowers by the roadside and serpents calling Serpentines snuggling up the mountains Encroaching valleys with midday sun only Eclipses and climax cliff faces falling from grace A waterhole in the heat and all streams flowing Wetlands and lowlands surpassing shivering swells Towards oceans of fortuity courage and swirls of the sea She had not been blessed enough yet to make sense Of all in the vastness and treasures of passing with an Overwhelming sense of splendour and lack just the same Irritation in cautious dereliction of duty bound loss Tickled her privileged being and called for a prayer ‘Where is the meaning the purpose a sense of my breaths?’ She meets a Buddha under some trees or was it a nun Nonetheless a sage of sorts shining a light on abandonment ‘Do not get sad about it for melancholy kills all endeavour’ ‘Hurt not any sentient being and caress the awakening Self’ ‘It is about breathing light and shadows in search of the rainbow’ Kim solemnly bows naked forlorn enlightened and grateful Minds her business forgoes power money success and contempt Entwined harmony’s contradictions its synthesis and demise ‘My unanswered questions have led me but where’ she ponders Empties her pockets gives to a beggar and faces eternity’s truth Only death will tell when all is one and one Karma reveals what? The whole point of these travels is finding the compass of magic In imperfection and uncertainty in wondrous jest and attainment One day most likely quite near the end in a marvel of beginning It will become clear wholesome and meant as it had to ensue in That short story of life and yet when epitaphs shine as a prologue While a requiem sorts the dust between poetry and mist in the sky One thing is certain in that which keeps coming is going and fast The long and short of it is . . . forever and a day - one day at a time As her hand awakes from a dream as the clock keeps ticking And Her fingers firmly grasp the caress of letting go of her past Kim concludes that moments will change but senses will not . . .