Spirit

Where once a spirit, pure and bright,
Would sail on gossamer wings of light
And pass through realms of endless night
Amid the stars in blissful flight,

Now life resides in flesh and bone,
Amid the masses, yet alone,
Concealing sins he must atone,
The cares of life a heavy stone.

Where, now, the music of the spheres?
The song is sung, and yet, who hears?
Can heaven’s voice reach mortal ears
When drowned by mortal pain and tears?

And, should the spirit find the key
To break these bonds and set him free,
Will the lessons of mortality
Have stained him for eternity?

 

The Harvest

It’s what you’ve learned to feel in life
That you will feel in death;
The love or hate that fills your heart
Will fill your dying breath.
The machinations of this world
Are but a stage for learning;
The fires that fuel the spirit
Are what keep the wheels turning.
Each moment on this earthly plane
Is one more chance to grow,
But what you’ll harvest is your Self;
Be careful what you sow.

 

Lorna Davis is a poet who is happily retired and living in California.

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