As layers fall away, we're left a precious nut,
smallest nourishing kernel, next cycle's seed.
And, in this, our final hour, let go we must,
our heart's raw measure to our soul entrust,
as into the maelstrom, destined, we speed.
YOU ARE READING
Out of this Earth
PoetryMusings on the luminous sometimes whimsical world of human love: Bring your heart to the Garden for a feast of Earthly delights but come prepared for unexpected twists and dark turns along the way.
