Wayside Flower

As the lithe green plant withers
And drops into the earth,
So my soul crumbles to you
Like dry leaves into the formless
From which I arose.

By an unknown faith and love
The herb dies gladly into the soil
From which it struggled,
Lost in all the fragments
Of past summers
And warm springs yet to come.
Dispersed and scattered,
Dissociated and unformed.

And I look upon the wayside flower,
Reaching through the tall grass,
And in its petalled face
See peace and a great prayer.
For flowers can pray.

Within me I hear
The echo of its worship.
“I am here!
I am here!
Out of the dark into the light,
I am here.
Out of nothingness
The mystery wrought me.
Out of the pieces of its being I arise.
In surety I live,
Until I die, back into the mystery,
To be lived again,
Or be forever that which lived me.”

Thus spoke the flowers to my soul.
So can I too,
In a more conscious faith and love,
Die into the nothingness
From whence I came?
Can my trust transmute
My fear to joy and
Willingness to be dispersed?

Am I convinced
My soul too
Will be relived
In yet another summer,
When a warm spring
Will bring me
Out of the darkness
Of my unknowing?

Yes, somewhere,
My soul too is a wayside flower.

Copyright ©2006 Tony Crisp