Breath IV
BREATH IV
The spirit
This moment
Breathes in
And inspires
The spirit
One day
Checks out
And expires
The spirit
Meantime
Quietly watches
Whatever transpires
The spirit
Invites you
To watch it all too
Posted on April 3, 2014, in Poetry, Writing and tagged Death, Life, Mindfulness. Bookmark the permalink. 18 Comments.
Ben Naga 
OH I love this beautiful little Verse Ben 🙂 LOVE it !!
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Thank you kindly, Morgan
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And you probably won’t be surprised that I love this one, Ben. I adore your 3 lines on their own (they’ve probably got a posh name in poetry, but I’m no so clued up on that kind of thing!). The poem just breathes…..
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I guess I was just …
…
… inspired.
😉
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And the longer ones can we worth the time too, honest. I spent (chunks of) three days on “Upon The Shoulders Of Giants” (https://bennaga.wordpress.com/2014/03/28/upon-the-shoulders-of-giants/) yet in our fast-food culture it seems few people have the time. Pity.
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BTW this comment is certainly not aimed at you, Angela, or anyone in particular; it is more of a general bewailing.
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Beautiful poem, Ben. Another to add to my favorites.
The spirit
Meantime
Quietly watches
The watcher, the watched, and the watching… we’re all three – as One…..
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Yes, indeed. The temporary duality a step on the way. “First there is a mountain …”
Have you found time yet to digest “Upon The Shoulders Of Giants” (https://bennaga.wordpress.com/2014/03/28/upon-the-shoulders-of-giants/ by the way? I should be glad to hear your comments/reaction if you would do me the honour, Betty.
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Ben, it’s my honor that you would want my further reaction to this amazing poem of yours. I’ll comment further in the proper post, though I fear it won’t do the poem justice.
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I’ll go see. 🙂
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🙂
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Rock on, Bela. 🙂 I don’t know how I missed this comment of yours initially.
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😀
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The tranquility flows with these soothing words.
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Blessed respite, I hope. 🙂
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Need one today. Too tired for words to form. Best to stop trying to force them.
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If you would put on an old cape, preferably deer hide chewed soft over many, many days, found an appropriate hill, preferably rounded with what? cedar trees? the ancient Celtic conception of world tree?, and learned to chant with a bold voice that joins the timbre of the wind, wisdom would fall with gray rain on the earth and everywhere around your being blue flowers would burst into blossom. I am sure of this Ben-Methuselah-Ray, bard, Metamorphosis.
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Now I’m not at all sure I shall ever be worthy of such a comment. A worthy goal at least though.
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