La Petite Mort

In each random sigh of exhalation
the perfume of our own looming death
exudes the beguiling fragrance of flowers,
whose fragile beauty is not diminished
by the inevitability of destruction
at the hand of the very life that
once coaxed them to bud,
to bloom, to blossom.
No, that blessed evanescence
timed into each transient flower
has never been a source of fear
for the life that lives this garden,
a life that that eagerly reflects itself
within each smiling floral face
and mirrors back infinity.
Cradled by love in a garden
of love, with only love
as the Gardener –
who could resist this
last little death at the hand
of the one who most loves you?




About Bob OHearn

My name is Bob O'Hearn, and I live with my Beloved Mate, Mazie, in the foothills of the Northern California Sierra Nevada Mountains. I have a number of blog sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: Essays on the Conscious Process: Compiled Poetry and Prosetry: Verses and ramblings on life as it is: Verses and Variations on the Investigation of Mind Nature: Verses on the Play of Consciousness: Poetic Fiction, Fable, Fantabulation: Poems of the Mountain Hermit: Love Poems from The Book of Yes: Autobiographical Fragments, Memories, Stories, and Tall Tales: Ancient and modern spiritual texts, creatively refreshed: Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: Thank You!
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