Litkicks Message Board Archive

Here is a poem . . . comments appriated.

Posted to WritersAndGenres




innocent animals

2:42 p.m., March 9, 2001:
I sit silent in my room.
Waiting for prophetic doom,
or a thousand candles lit.

Death arrives soon,
a mythic figure in my mind:
the smile luminous,
the touch disastrous.
Have I been good enough?
Is she my angel?

I forgot my mind
in my pants pocket –
The pants I took off
last night, sent to the
cleaners this morning.
The pants where I hid my dreams
& when I took them off
I heard forgotten voices calling
from forgotten rooms
& there I was standing,
holding Death in my hands:
a dove, wings spread
dying from too much love
& sheltered from Life
by feathers that fell
from Heaven.

The dove is symbolic;
The dove is a doorway.
Let us go forward & embrace
This Dharma journey
That lies in Death
& has spread wings
& is before us today.

When the father firgures
Of gods go away
We are innocent animals
That never die a final death
But are reborn in cycles
That continue, endless.

-Kevin R. Pennington, 2001