Finish Lines (Poem)

 

No one told me

before I got here

that nothing truly

begins. Not really.

 

Rather, endings bleed

into inceptions, fertilizer

for what must be born.

And conception

is the womb that incubates

a seed of perfect

demise.

 

Sacrifice has always

been about this

merciless magic,

this capitulation

to death that nurtures

life and life that swallows

death.

 

Finish lines

are impossible because

straight lines do not exist.

This whole divine game

board, this frolic of endings

and beginnings,

is a circle. 

 

~ Lori Ann Lothian

Vancouver, Canada, Dec 26, 2015.

 

 

 

 

 

 

8 thoughts on “Finish Lines (Poem)

  1. John

    The eternal immutable truth is the Spirit and without the Spirit the pragmatic truth of a self-creating universe would have no origin or foundation; it would be barren of significance, empty of inner guidance, lost in its end, a firework display shooting up in to the void only to fall away and perish in mid-air. But neither is the pragmatic truth a dream of the non-existent, an illusion or a long lapse into some futile delirium of creative imagination; that would be to make the eternal Spirit a drunkard or a dreamer, the fool of his gigantic self-hallucinations.
    Sri Aurobindo, The Supramental Manifestation

    …thus, now, ‘The Awakened Dreamer’ (JL)

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