The moon sat - Buddha,
fat and cross-legged, sagging
the horizon, contemplating
the world spread out below -
December pale, frosted
with the fine ash of incense
burnt on wasted prayers, and
somewhere in the distance
a bell chimed.
This is a partial poem that was composed in the truck on the way to the hospital the morning of Nova's heart cath, it was 5:30 in the morning and still dark, with a huge low-slung full moon. It took me all day just to find something to jot this bit down on - and the day was such a long tiring fiasco of a day that it never really got finished. Now, so much has changed, with Nova being home and all, that the emotion behind it has completely changed - leaving me with no idea where to go with it.
Someday I'll finish it, or rewrite it, or trash it... Whichever it tells me to do.
Poetry
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