The white stuff shrouded the valley this morning like a blanket of white cotton wool. We could have been hovering within the clouds as all was hidden from view. Prompting:
How do you convince a child
Afraid of the dark and all things wild
There’s nothing, without the glim
There’s nothing there,
Nothing there
Before the light was dimmed?
How do you know the hill
Which dominates the scene to fill
Remains, when mist descends anew
And hides all from your peering view?
Are you sure you are alone
When no one else is in the room?
Are you sure there’s nothing felt
As into the shadows others melt.
Loved ones pass and leave a void
But are you sure they are no more
Than images on celluloid?
Or could part of them still be here
As I believe they are, for sure.
In darkness you try so hard to avoid
Often pleased, sometimes annoyed
They are gone from touch and sight,
But they are elsewhere in the light
And therefore sorely missed
Like the hill behind the mist.
Behind a subtle veil of secrecy,
For what purpose would that be?
Perhaps to bring you grief?
Surely not! Or maybe for belief!
Each knows the moment when
Purpose has been served again.
We all are joined through purple haze
In subtle and yet concrete ways
Each bringing to the other whose
Experience needed for our purpose,
Which we might not bring our way,
Essential for our greater good, they say.
The loss, the lack that brings a test
That’s not to damn or crush our best
But only to allow the urge inside
The partnership that in resides
To cope, as only it knows how
The inner self knows well, to allow.
The power within holds all the keys,
Keys to open all our hidden pleas.
The links we have, effect and cause
Hidden though on mist filled moors
Revelation like an angel’s kiss
Brings solution and belief’s soft bliss.
Can be confirmed by changed belief,
That goes some way to conquer grief.
Discard your ancient mis-concepts
Forget the preaching of ancient adepts
In the light of the warming, rising sun
Simple symbol of the only One
That disperses all mysterious mists.
Look with new eyes at your life of lack
That must become pure light, not black.
There is no-thing to cure of one being missed,
But there’s a joy to find in every murky mist.
Joy that hides inside, bursting forth as one
In the bright light of our life giving sun,
The One, linking all together, know this
Even in your moments of dark or bliss
Even when you are lost in fog or mist
The One knows you are not missed
And they who went on ahead
Are with you, if only in your head.
For you are never ever alone.
Forever you are part of the One.
© David Tenneson 2013
With Love, Hanukah


About David

Devonian writer
This entry was posted in POEMS and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to MIST

  1. eugene1941 says:

    It is beautiful, David.
    This poem wakes up so many of my own memories about the “Mist” whether real or imaginary.
    And yes, it is important to share beliefs with others, but it is equally important not to impose them on anyone.
    Beliefs, like stories, are made to be enjoyed not to be “suffered” by anyone.
    Both must make us grow as they (sometimes) open doors that were, up to now, closed to our understanding.
    Thanks for being so prolific and to shower so much truth on us.
    Much love and light to you and all those who read your post.



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