Sunday, February 21, 2021

tired monk tired

I know I should rise
(no grave can hold me down)
fight this (epithet) malaise
but this one is heavy
like wet monk's robe
soaked with lake water

too much 
fighting and fleeing 
wearing me out
past tired monk tired

8 comments:

  1. Yes. Me, too. The heavy wet monk's robe speaks to me. The weight of it. Yet we keep on.

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  2. Yes me too...something's going on...I'm picking up on it and aint good !

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  3. You were so right, when you said that your poem would fit the theme of the Pantry. I, too, understand that heaviness, that dragging... I'm so ready for light.

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  4. That heaviness. Like a soul made of stone. Like time as an anchor. Monk will rise again with a breaking sun.

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  5. Time to be still, rest – and gird the loins for whatever comes next?

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  6. Time for R&R and come back refreshed for the coming day.

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  7. Back for another read, Ollie. Still tired, too.

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  8. The heaviness of a wet robe—what an apt description.

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