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Open Poetry #40
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ivordavies
Senior Member
since 2007-01-10
Posts 739
Chester, England

0 posted 2007-02-25 04:57 PM



Circle of Chairs

I found myself sitting in a circle of chairs,
with people about me, some saying their prayers
for family and friends who’d completed life’s stay,
to continue the journey, on their spiritual way.

The people around me weren’t gloomy or grim
as they talked of their loved ones, they all seemed to grin.
They joked of the times they had shared here on earth,
and spoke of the things they’d achieved since their birth.

I settled my mind and relaxed, don’t you see,
I was here to help others and not just for me.
While drifting, not thinking, and floating around,
I felt that my being was raised from the ground.

Then slowly and calmly the thoughts flooded in,
and words started filling my head, just for him.
I knew that these memories were his, not for me,
of a beautiful woman in that misty sea.

I asked him if he could remember the time
when we met at a bus stop, both waiting in line.
Then, as fate would have it, we caught the same bus,
and from that day onward, we both became ‘us’.

His face started beaming, the love shone out clear,
I think that he then knew that death had no fear.
He choked as he answered and tears flowed quite free,
and said, “Yes I do love”, not speaking to me.

This story’s just one from the things that unfold,
when sitting in harmony linked with your soul .
Just remember when heartache will not set you free,
friends still are around us, it’s just we don’t see.

The spirit within us must travel it’s way,
our life on the ‘earth’ is to grow, love and play.
When our time is destined, we must then make our way,
to the place where we’ll all meet, one wonderful day.

Ivor G Davies

The moment created this second, is a  moment that's going to last.
It lives the full spectrum of time, the future, the present and past.

© Copyright 2007 Ivor G Davies - All Rights Reserved
ivordavies
Senior Member
since 2007-01-10
Posts 739
Chester, England
1 posted 2007-03-02 05:42 PM


A minor occurance of little note,
not like the one where I hung by my throat,
but humour the poet
and I may recall more,
about visits to places
that most would abhor.

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