Ephemeral

This world can feel bare, hard, cold

And indifferent; immutable mountains, for example,

Couldn’t care less about your dramas, your fears,

Your wounding public pain or your private, silent tears.

Ghost cold winds brush your skin, touch your hair -

They don’t care if you shiver, if your fingers burn blue.

The trees undulate to their own unheard

Refrain. Their language is not made from your words.

Birds lay and hatch, insects go about their business,

Seasons change, with or without you. Rain doesn’t notice

If your breath comes in laboured pants, or not at all.

You are part of these things though. The same small

Sub atomic debris which make them, made you. The flame

That fires you burns deep within you; the spark that

Lit it flared in readiness for you millennia ago.

Treasure it. You are more precious than you can ever know

mabon