Not easy to face, but when I have given life
Everything I have to give, then my weary bones
Must lay upon the dark earth and sink deep.
My sightless eyes gaze nowhere so that I,
A Fool of Fools, will finally see my hopeless
Condition as it is on lustrous sand without
An hourglass to hold it, as far as the horizon.

The carrion had a desiccated meal of me
Yet they took no interest in my bags, and
I understand now that the effects I left
Behind – jewels, accomplishments and
Glamour – of course, only took me so far
Into the next dimension. It seems that the only
Participation that remains transactional is love.

Facing mortality, again and again, through
The experience of life, my hand was a sieve,
But my heart manages each transition for me
Now, and I find gold less appealing and more dangerous.
Death, of any sort, is painful, full of grief;
Though, necessary for emergence from the tight pride
About flesh and other habits to which we’re attached.

copyright (c) 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson

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