POETRY
No One Really Dies
We’re always here
A languid hour or two,
perhaps with tea and the morning sun
fierce, and lovely on our face,
while in the distance
echoes of the clank of rigging
as boats rock and heave against the ropes,
and sudden inspiration lifts our heart
with all the vast and fleeting,
fragile beauty
of the inexpressible,
a poetry of insight touching every star
and every human life,
reminding us even in these troubled times,
there’s still sunlight dancing
on the surface of the wind-blown river,
still wildflowers and the song of birds,
and its the small things
reminding us life’s more beautiful
than we can say in words,
reminding us
to sometimes let the silence find us,
let the wisdom touch our heart.
No one really dies, we dissolve,
into all the intelligence blended through
the living fabric of the world,
we become the haunting cry of geese
in flight across the winter sky,
the raucous screech of wild parrots in the sunshine,
bringing exuberance to London
between showers of rain,
the intelligence bringing blossom
in the Springtime
and beauty to the shape of flowers,
and we’re woven through
with all the hidden poetry of silence,
the silent whisper of our intuition,
the hidden flower,
a poetry of meaning
heard only in our heart.
No one really dies,
we dissolve into the eternal,
into all the conscious silence like an endless sky,
the universal soul that’s never born,
the intelligence everywhere
that’s always here,
and as the sun shines in my face,
I find myself saying thank you
to something in the universe
words can’t describe,
the conscious silence
that always guides our heart.
Paul Mulliner 2024
Discover some of my other poetry published in The Howling Owl :
