These Days by Jen Curry

These days’, poems arise.
Before the poet does.
Rumbling and growling like a hungry ghost.
Calling to be fed.
The mind is stabilized.
Dream’s, reflect fruition.
As, nightly flights glide with trusting currents.
Abiding with confidence and compassion.
Grief, from loss flows and unfolds.
Echoing the dark flowers of sadness.
Gently planted in the garden of life.
Watering tears, touching tenderness.
Sowing, torn emotions.
By experiencing deep wisdom.
From equanimity, care and curiosity.
Many friends reluctantly shed the body.
Willingly, the personality falls away.
Allowing…accepting… opening…
Being the journey ahead.
Letting go… of those left behind.
In the end knowing we will meet again.
In these days’ impermanence thrives.
Exhausting all resistance.
Natural awareness arrives.