david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

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Looking for the heart of gratitude and forgiveness,

asking for light to enter my heart and forgive me.

Wanting to forgive myself and accept myself and love myself,

and have no fear of all these thoughts, emotions, shadows and

illusions that appear to be so real––but, I hear, are not real––

powerful but unreal––even a memory is an illusion

because it is filtered through thoughtand emotion. . .

and the images of the memories are seemingly random,

like a slide show, and who knows when

or why they appear, or why they appear when they do, or

what they mean. . . or if it is just natual processing. . .

like leaves blowing in spirals in an autumn wind remembering

the past spring when they were budding and growing so green

and with such eagerness and urgent joy and force and now

have let got of the branch     and turned gold or red or brown

and are swirling in the chilly storm wind of fall,

dancing in the air one last time on their way to the ground,

maybe to dream again of spring and summer and all the life ahead.

I just want to be harmless and live my life

with love and compassion and joy in my work

and learn to love others in a generous harmless way.

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