Poem of the Week

Meditation

Sitting on a 55-year-old padded wood chair

Trying to keep my spine in line

Wiping free random thoughts to focus

On my spiritual breathing

Drawing a path to a secret place

The dark deserted cave barely lit

Stomping through muddy water

Feeling treacherous rocks

So, I don’t fall

Peering through the bristling future opening

The sun peaks a hole for my guided imagery

My heart races knowing an escape hatch is near

Dragging my spindly legs

Blinking eyelids capture windy crusts

Inching forward with perpetual anticipation

Gulping for oxygen

Predicting a freefall warm chill

Goosebumps smiling

Grass foliage whispers to me

You have arrived

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