Resurrection
Fires burning
to melt this Ice
River of Life flows
through my soul
again, waking the Garden
pain of Birth equaled
only by the pleasure of living
Winter's Darkness fades
as the madness of spring
over takes my mind
and I return from
Death again to
Celebrate another year
Fires burning
to melt this Ice
River of Life flows
through my soul
again, waking the Garden
pain of Birth equaled
only by the pleasure of living
Winter's Darkness fades
as the madness of spring
over takes my mind
and I return from
Death again to
Celebrate another year
Nothing comes without a price. Feeling again means opening myself, not just to pleasure, but to pain as well. Learning to trust means learning to live through betrayal. And for every joy celebrated, pain must be endured. This poem is, on the surface, about celebrating the return of spring. I dread winter every year, wait impatiently for warmer weather. It's also about living through the winters of the spirit. The times when our souls seem to freeze and everything around us is dull and gray. If we allow it, the light will return. Everything explodes into color and warmth. It's not easy or painless. If you've lived in shadows for a time the light can burn your eyes. And everything seems so overwhelming. Coping with a resurrection of the spirit can be as painful as the loss that dragged you down. It is a madness, the need to touch, see, taste everything all at the same time. To gorge oneself with experiences, to seize every moment and wring it dry of every nuance. Until exhaustion forces a period of contemplation. A moment to sit and put these events into perspective, organize them into my mind. And add these occasions to my memories, these sights to my eyes, these tastes to my tongue. A weary bacchante, temporarily sated.
