THE VOICE OF LONGING
Sometimes I long for things I did not get and wonder how different I would be if I had gotten what I longed for, you know, the what if’s. I suspect that the mystery will always take precedence over the knowing. But longing is the energetic force that dreams are made of so, whatever the evolution of my experiences, I continue to long and create more dreams. I believe that is humanity’s divine design.
Above my reach
Looking into the womb space of a giant oak
Long ago a felled branch left gaping.
An infant could cradle there.
Must and mites invite my longing child.
Fill the emptiness,
Spirit of mysterious hope,
With the wonderment of not knowing.
Why and how disintegrate.
So many new lives thrive inside the rot,
Feeding on the sorrow of lost dreams.
Look higher into the dappled light
Through spring green,
There are dreams yet unfolding.
© 2016 Bessie Adams Senette