Meditation

I wrote this when my head was about to explode, and I couldn't find a way of sorting through the roiling thoughts and worries crammed in there. I seem to be facing a similar situation, so I'm going to share it.


Meditation

Behold this glass orb I hold,
With all of the swirls and twirls
Within the artist's vision
Akin to dollish blonde curls,

And look at the light reflecting,
Trapped inside the glass.
So little can escape,
Jumbling the rest en masse.

And could the orb but think
Perhaps the tumult would sleep,
Or if the orb could dream
It would perhaps not weep.

For in sleep could it sanctuary find
And let the roiling, poisonous bile
In its pit perhaps some peace find
And file into quiet lines, waiting trial.

It could be that judgment is mete
With nominal sighs and tears
And mercy jumps to obey
Instead of instilling me with fears.

-Rosemary Larkin