by Mike Towey

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This is a fumbling towards chaos

No whimpering in dark memories

The tool that cuts edges is light sharp

Frenzy only in fearful longing

Feeling the pain of punctuated dawns

You stole my otherness in bliss

As ribbons of thoughts unfurl

Your beauty unravels time

A maze of intricate connections

Speaking softly, sweet thoughts unwind

The crucible and crucifix are only means

Plunging through swollen and sullen theories

Catapulting from sweet inception

Dragged through ditches and battlefields

The horror and the honey stirring

Movement comes to sudden stillness

We are grasped as common pieces

Gasping for a right to be

Mutable and rigid blended easily

No need for other meaning

When I feel the loss of pain

And know the joy of gain

You appear without a name

In your time of shedding flesh

Spirit rises from an empty bed

Part of me will leave

Part of you will stay

Where else could we go

Our essence merged to play

In spirit’s sacred way

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© Mike Towey

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Mike Towey (he/him) ‘s history in poetry started 66 years ago when he wrote a memorial poem for his mother. That makes him 84. Mike believes that poetry opens up the world of the spirit. In the few words he has left, poetry is that world. Mike lives in Minneapolis, MN.

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