The gravity of our bond keeps us
spinning, orbiting.
But we move no closer.
Our space cold, familiar.
Path-worn answers to ancient questions.
The pressure flattens words to dark silence.
Light from only one direction.
Note: I submitted this “short poem” (less than 40 words) for a contest run by Fathom Magazine for their latest issue. My poem wasn’t selected, but I had so much fun writing it that I thought I’d publish it here anyway.
Photo Credit: Denis Degioanni (2018), public domain
I’ll be the one to grow old without pain,
I’ll be the exception.
Others have tried to gain before gain
always to face rejection.
I’ll be the one to avoid creaky knees.
Arthritis, bad back I’ll resist.
Stay active, stay strong, get plenty of z’s,
I’ll check every box on the list.
I’ll be the one with no lasting disease.
Cholesterol, cancer—no way.
I’ll beat back genetics with veggies and teas.
Organic? I’m willing to pay.
I’ll be the one with an ever-sharp mind.
I’ll slow down not even a bit.
Confusion, dementia—I’ll leave them behind,
I’ll read and converse to stay fit.
Headstrong, determined, and foolish I go,
ignoring the reason One was made low.
He was the one who loved and obeyed
each of his thirty-three years.
Willing to suffer, he saw his strength fade
through anguish and blood-coated tears.
He was the one without sin of his own
who bore a hellish, foul load.
His heavenly army stayed back near the throne
as he stumbled up Calvary’s road.
He was the one who sought heaven’s joy
instead of power or ease.
The works of the devil and flesh to destroy,
the Father’s wrath to appease.
He is the one who’s readied a place
helping me properly long
for curse-free communion at last face to face
adopted and loved in the throng.
Photo Credit: anonymous (2016), public domain
A Small Work 