poems from another blog: zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.de: stroke me...speak to me...

http://zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.de/2015/04/the-unfixing.html


 Origami

 This is how I live:

Inside, I get torn apart,
into small pieces, each one showing 
no more than a letter or two, 
perhaps a syllable; 
and the pieces are thrown
into the errors of my soul, my breath.

They spiral, fluttering slowly
downward towards the bottom of my heart
like confetti, as though snowfall
were a benediction: all the words I use made sacred
by destroying them.

Down there, in darkness
where I can’t reach them,
small creatures find the scraps; 

Gather them with nimble fingers,
folding tiny resurrections 

In the shape of birds. 



http://zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.de/2015/04/the-rain-falls-i-come-to-this-moment-of.html


The rain falls

I come to this moment of return
Without a pale breath to feed me,
Without warning, without
The threads that got me here.

I am picking up a thousand instances
Where I dropped time on the floor, astonished
By what it said:
That it dared to speak to me.

That I dared to listen.

And altogether, I am helpless
In the art of living;
I thought I knew 
The way things ought to be

As though what in them were preserved
Unbroken, undistorted
Even though I touched them
And hurt them with my cares.

Where is my trust, my trust
Where are the ones who loved me,
Held me up?
Geese cry in the morning

As though they, too, are lost.
Yet their light
Has not yet begun to fail;
They know their Way.

I do not know mine.
This is the fate of those,
Who go into the unknown.
The rain falls.