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 several other sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: Essays on the Conscious Process: Poetry and Prosetry: Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: Thank You!
This entry was posted in Mystic Poetry, Nonduality and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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