What must be done

29/03/22

Warm and bitter coffee
Cheerful and nostalgic songbird
Quiet and energetic mornings,

I just go on.
I just keep on.
I just live on.

I simply am.
I simply exist.
I simply fill this space.

Not for you,
Not for the world,
Not even for me.

For the One.

I pick up the book where I left it.
I pick up the song where I left it.
I pick up the pen where I left it.

From where I left it all when you came along.

Is my story still the same?
Is my voice still the same?
Is my poem still the same?

Nothing ever remains.

Even ice must melt and reveal relics of the past.
Even sand must shift and reveal ruins of the past.
Even earth must crumble and reveal threads of the past.

Nothing can remain.

All grows
All withers
And all returns…

In another form.

What of that song I once heard in your silence?

Can I find it buried under that tree?
Can I find it buried in my roots?
Can I find it buried in my poems?

Must I leave it to grow again?
Must I uproot it before it grows again?
Must I leave it to blow, again?

They say weeds who survive the winter have stronger roots.

Difficult to uproot.
Difficult to unearth.
Difficult to dig out.

But what must be done,
Must be done.

Or else…

Think of the blistering cold,
of that winter.

Think of the howling anguish,
of that winter.

Think of the betraying ice,
of that winter,

What must be done,
Must be done.

Tear out the ivy,
Pull out the weeds,
Scatter away crumbling leaves,

So that the rose can bloom again.