Gift to be Apart

We choose the paths

we call our lives

within the deeper longing;

as sun and stars

create the night

and moon’s desire,

we are what lifts the sky,

descends to sea,

the gift to be apart

woven in a wider cloth;

we are not ocean

but we are water,

we are not sun

but we are light;

we grow, we live

then we leave

taking with us

food for the gods.




12 Responses to “Gift to be Apart”

  1. Lloyd Meeker says:

    Home run, Don! My experience of those woven connections is what gives shape to my life. You touch something so deep in me with this one. Thank you.

  2. Tom Walsh says:

    I love this Don… Thanks !

  3. Bill Dare says:

    Sparkle and Light… loved it, Don.

  4. Nancy Rose Meeker says:

    Beautiful, Don. Thank you.

  5. Maria Frid says:

    Very deeply touching, Don! Thank you!

  6. donnarheath says:

    Thank you Don –so Beautiful and true.

  7. concetta says:

    HOME RUN is right! Who needs religion when you can have a poem like this!

  8. David Banner says:

    Don…I love the poem AND I AM the water and the sun!

    AND I see where you are going with this.

  9. This is a simple reply to your glorious poem…”YES!”

    (Just this morning, on TV, I watched an anesthetist describe how the soul departs the body carrying with it all it has gathered in one lifetime. “Food for the gods” indeed.)

  10. Pichay says:

    I add my voice with yours, Don, and with our community of subscribers. Apart…but not separate…..a part….of the whole Tone.

  11. Keith Hancock says:

    I would agree this is a very moving and inspiring poem.

    A recent quote I am looking at which seems to fit along with this beautiful poem: “Everything associated with the heart – relationship, emotion, passion – can only be grasped and appreciated with the tools of religion and poetry.”
    Thomas Moore from his “Soul Mates” book.

  12. Robin Haysom says:

    Love this Don…the gift to be apart woven in a wider cloth…..speaks to me so profoundly. Have been away awhile and glad to come and rest awhile with the gentle massaging rhythm of your poems.

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