An evening of Myth and Poetry

kindle, life at the far end, electronic, e-book, digital copy
life at the far end, blog, poetry, book, published
annette meserve, storyteller, business, facebook page, writer, author, poetry, fiction

February 1, 2017  in Trinidad, CO

​​​I carry a small stash
of jewels in my hand,
in my palm a tiny pile
of faceted colors,
precious stones formed
in the heat
and extraordinary pressure
of a human life upon the earth,
the rough raw surfaces
of inborn gifts,
cut into planes of shimmer and shine
that reflect the internal fire
of experience,
and desire,
and intention.

These are my treasures,
small and few,
but mine,
resources that I alone have to offer,

usefulnesses and talents
that I want,
with everything I am,
to contribute to humanity's collective coffers,
for my jewels to be added
to yours,
and to his,
and to hers,
and to theirs. 

Want for all the glitterings
that each person carries,
those gems made clearer,
and purer,
and more substantial
by that one person's journey,
their unique stones,
pressed and heated
in the crucible of their lives,
richly colored by the elements

within the specific matrix
of their forming,

Want for no jewel to go unnoticed,
to be discounted
and devalued
within the deep poverty
that our species has created for itself,

for no gem to be slapped
from the palm that holds it,
to go shattered into the gutter
and ignored.

Want for all of these gifts,
every one offered up
cupped in the outstretched palms
of our child-selves,
gifts pouring out of the cracks
of our broken hearts,

To be accepted,
to be treasured,
for each to be set within golden prongs,
by the craftspeople who take pride in their work
who, when smithing the delicate, fragile strand,
close each link
with the solder of integrity and compassion,

The carcanet of our legacy
brought and wrought
by those artisans able
to see
and to hold,
and to craft
the grand design
into a piece of singular radiance,
no stone appraised,
or exalted,
above any other,
each recognized for the brilliance 
it alone can lend
to the fruit of creation itself,
symbol of the dream
we all can wear,
tucked warm against our breastbones,
healing our descendants' hearts. 

                               ©2020 Annette Meserve


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annette meserve writing storyteller poet author fiction flash short stories novels



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