All level,
Like foot turned sand
Washed over by the sea.
Or ploughed earth,
Grown filled with grasses.
Level as my feelings
Renewed with love;
As the winter frost on a still night.

At a level,
Where the footpath below
Has lost its contours
And rough places.
At a level,
Where memories come back blessed.

Nothing contradicts,
Not for a while.
No past regrets disturb,
Or future fears turmoil.
Only benediction from oneself,
For what disturbs has been released.

Pause a while in rest,
While you are at a level.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp

Copyright © 1999-2010 Tony Crisp | All rights reserved