Wishing Well
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
by Doris Kareva
1
Life has no story,
life is creation.
Is it true that we get
all we desire?
Is it true that we get
all we deserve?
Is it true we're all caught
by all we avoid?
What a fleeting
and full exclamation -
life's not a story,
just hope and creation.
2
Every thought thought to the end
becomes a butterfly; breaking free.
Like a wave strikes the spring.
This strorm
that you breathe, heart all over.
3
About love and death,
about debts, karma and dharma
I thought that morning too,
in my breath
holding your back, your shoulder,
your sleep and the pulsing hours
until the operation.
4
Remind me what life is like
without memory, without fire -
a cave in the pre-dawn coma,
a wound that does not hurt
though it rots.
(A pointless moloch, yes,
but methodical.)
Remind me that life unlocked
can never be logical.
5
I age into beauty,
free of the buckle of hope
that has trashed me throughout my youth
with disappointment's belt.
Pain is the fear of pain.
Fear is the fear of fear.
The basis of all pyramids is
the monument.
6
Into that awesome abyss
your word falls like stone
from the sensitive, succulent heart
of the fruit of life.
Circles fade on the surface.
And out of the depth of truth
a tree will rise - full of fruit
that tastes like a riddle - or love.
7
"Beauty is grace,
balance is wisdom,
thought is deed,
truth is strength."
A simpler engraving
on a hunchback stone
is done only by water,
its wordless grave.
1
Life has no story,
life is creation.
Is it true that we get
all we desire?
Is it true that we get
all we deserve?
Is it true we're all caught
by all we avoid?
What a fleeting
and full exclamation -
life's not a story,
just hope and creation.
2
Every thought thought to the end
becomes a butterfly; breaking free.
Like a wave strikes the spring.
This strorm
that you breathe, heart all over.
3
About love and death,
about debts, karma and dharma
I thought that morning too,
in my breath
holding your back, your shoulder,
your sleep and the pulsing hours
until the operation.
4
Remind me what life is like
without memory, without fire -
a cave in the pre-dawn coma,
a wound that does not hurt
though it rots.
(A pointless moloch, yes,
but methodical.)
Remind me that life unlocked
can never be logical.
5
I age into beauty,
free of the buckle of hope
that has trashed me throughout my youth
with disappointment's belt.
Pain is the fear of pain.
Fear is the fear of fear.
The basis of all pyramids is
the monument.
6
Into that awesome abyss
your word falls like stone
from the sensitive, succulent heart
of the fruit of life.
Circles fade on the surface.
And out of the depth of truth
a tree will rise - full of fruit
that tastes like a riddle - or love.
7
"Beauty is grace,
balance is wisdom,
thought is deed,
truth is strength."
A simpler engraving
on a hunchback stone
is done only by water,
its wordless grave.
