Thursday, July 18, 2013

Age

In mirror mocked reflection
the paradox was brought,
to eye and mind, reality,
I was not what I thought.
Or felt, or sensed, or knew
within, the truth of who
I was, for physical made
fantasy, of ageless realms
of thought. Within that
place of Self I stood,
and knew that nothing
changed, that I was always
who I was, no matter
how I aged. This body
was not what I was, nor
held a certainty, but
stood as merely costume;
the dress this world did
need. There was no change
within that held,  authentic
or exact, and image merely
shared itself; as something
to be shed. The core of Self is
ageless, the truth of Soul
no bounds, reflections are
illusions;  can hold no solid
ground. For facts are just
perception, the mind makes
what it sees, and gathers
what it knows is true;
our own veracity. To hold
unto the spiritual, the Self
which does endure, means
this is dress material;
to keep as we do need.

http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2013/07/18/prompt-166-whats-it-like-to-be-your-age/#respond


4 comments:

  1. Within that
    place of Self I stood,
    and knew that nothing
    changed, that I was always
    who I was, no matter
    how I aged.

    A great philosophy, that.

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  2. I love that we achieve our own level of wisdom in our years. Back in the day, it was experience that we never listened to. I'm listening now, Ros. A wonderful work.

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is a real, wise and beautiful poem.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Remarkable!
    Yours are the poems I wish I could write.
    So natural and so satisfying.

    ReplyDelete