That which we resist, persists.
Block and Blade
by Odin Roark
Like the Local butcher
receiving deliveries of
swinging stridently along
like our own masses of degradable tissue,
powerlessly attached to faith hung rails--
We too move helplessly forward to
Time's ultimate sacrifice,
perpetuity being fed
to nourish Time's daily dying.
Just as the clock for shopping's rush hour
urges the butcher to cleaver his offerings,
so too the ticking of our own destiny
hastens hood and scythe for one last supper.
Atop the block
straddles blade upon blade,
awaiting the careful severing of
anticipation, sans hurrah.
For Now has arrived.
The ice cold reality.
awaiting Nature's ultimate ingestion,
soon to become tomorrow's
promises finally made ready.
What say them
The candlestick maker?
How long will they/we endure the frost
of temporary preservation,
knowing we could be embracing,
rather than staving off the so-called end?
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|Reviewed by Amor Sabor
|Beautifully done, Odin...the first work of yours that I have read but with great pleasure in this fine composition.|
|Reviewed by richard cederberg
|It is quite sobering, Odin, - after we've gone beyond the 'i'm gonna live forever' season of youthfulness when nothing at all aches, and every body part functions properly, and the scar tissue on the heart hasn't changed the way it functions - to realize that life, (in these bodies) with all it's complexities and highs and lows and joys and sorrows and challenges, has an expiration date.
Your struggles certainly are not all-inclusive, and (if i may expound on your three way mirror) offer the reader a palpable view of your struggles and insights along with you. A ubiquitously affecting poem. May I suggest that you read the recent poem on the board, "as the years pass" by Amor Sabor. A fine piece from a different perspective. peace to you ... richard