Posted in Poetry

Just a Mobile

Slippery illusions and hidden meanings,

fold together into the origami of the self.

Stupid, meaningless shapes.

Hanging in a mobile,

spinning in the wind of life.

Helplessly, turning.

Moving when ever the wind comes.

Something like fate.

But I suppose we choose the shapes

and the order in which they hang.

It changes the effect of the passing wind.

Shaper crisp edges

or sloppy soft ones on wrinkled paper?

Quality depends on the starting stock.

Everything comes back to its beginning.

Life circles like the mobile.

Repeating it over and over

until the wind stops.

Splashes of sunlight and darkening shadows,

alternating places as it spins in front of the window.



I am Myself I am a Wife Blessed with love I am a Mother Endowed with divinity Through the power of creation I am a Daughter Brought into this world With unending hope And the promise of the future I am a Sister Made fierce and strong While forged with kindness Protector and protected Spiraling together forever I am a Nurse Holding out the hands of healing And offering the sick comfort And the dying love Knowing that through this All things are healed and made whole I am a Writer Creating myself and world Sharing the inner depths of humanity Bringing together the divine And the humble mortal I tell the story of the Goddess And am remembered forever

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