Here I kneel in silence once again,
Hands empty and turned upward.
Everything I held in the broken cup
Of my palms has been taken away.
•
Scars and paint marks are scattered
Over my weathered and peeling skin.
The grooves on my palms map out
The tortuous quests of the past —
•
My hands once gripped life’s throat,
Threatening it to yield to my wishes;
My fists once pounded on the world
With an insatiable need for dominion.
•
Alas, like a gust of wind, a force swept
Away everything within my tight grasp,
Leaving my gaping palms with nothing
But emptiness and weightlessness.
•
Just as the forests shed in the fall,
Folding into the earth to be born again;
Or the aged give up the dense body,
Returning to the elements of infancy,
•
I have learned to let go of everything
I have ever held against my bones
To cradle that primordial emptiness
Between my hands, ready to receive.
© nightdawnday
p.s. Leave a comment if this resonated with you. I love to hear your stories!
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