Meditation on Breathing

Inhale.

Hold it in your lungs,

The air so weightless

That we soon forget

That it’s even there;

 

Exhale.

Whose absence is felt,

Whose presence is life,

Leaving us breathless

Thinking of it all.

 

Inhale,

But the paradox

Is when that air leaves,

It’s the heaviest

Thing imaginable.

 

Air might be weightless

But breath weighs so much.

Exhale.

 

Esphragismeuos

This thing I have is happiness.

It’s not a feeling or a phase.

It’s more like everlasting bliss,

Which leaves me all the more amazed.

 

They ask how much it costs to buy,

But what I got was heaven’s gift.

So then they ask if they could try

To make themselves a duplicate.

 

The joy that’s found in me was free

Yet came at cost too great to bear.

Why did my savior ransom me

And heed this sinner’s empty prayer?

 

And that is why my happiness

Is not a feeling or a phase.

The gift of mercy, love, and grace

Can never be taken away.

The Shoddy Strands

All around are bells that hum

In glassy clinking taut with strings

A knot is tied around my thumb

Each tug a wave of rippling rings.

The dome of gray that serve as sky

And grunge of green that serve as grass

The net of bells go low and high

And only move when I pull back.

So fixed was I upon the bells

That sometimes echoed something new

Within my lifeless body swells

The thought that someone else could move.

Yet from the dome there came a knock

As soft as wool and sharp as death

It sends the ringing like a flock

Of doves to me from east and west.

Like lions do the bells now roar

“My child, my child, you’re not alone,”

The voice rails tender on the door,

“This empty land is not your home.”

This whisper begs me, “Let me in,

My child, before the darkness comes.”

The clamor quiets yet again

The gentle tug against my thumb.