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Tuesday, 22 July 2014


By Marc Leavitt of Marc Leavitt's Blog

We, all of us, return, and try another way,
A different simulacrum of reality;
The energy we call the soul, assumes new form
Within a multi-verse of change and random choice.
Next time, you might come back a brilliant butterfly,
Bright wings a-flutter, flying off to find a mate,
Still missing, caterpillar-like, your warm cocoon;
A young amoeba, almost ready to divide,
Multiplying in a single drop of water,
And unimpressed by nearby parameciums;
A single sunbeam, shining on a chilly day,
Homesick for the fiery star that cast you off,
Or, a forlorn grain of sand on a windy beach,
Wistfully recalling you used to be a rock.

[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Please read instructions for submitting.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


Thank you...

My friend believed she was a reincarnation of Catherine the
Great, that must have been hard to just be the common folk.

The man upstairs chose and I am who I am.
I would love to fly, or to swim and fly as the anhinga.
I hope I would be able to move, and not be rooted to one spot.
The world is so amazing, to know one has to leave is sometimes just
Thanks for the inspiration. Perhaps all is not lost.

Lovely Mark!

Sand grains have long life cycles don't they? They may well be on the way to being rock again.

As opposed to the brief spark of the butterfly, or the candle flame that is us.

I'm coming back as one of my cats.
Adored, spoiled, well fed, loved with no responsibilities, a large sunny yard in the summer and a warm fire in the winter.

Thanks for that thoughtful piece Marc - as Joanne said - it's not fear of death we mostly feel but the sadness at leaving so much beauty and love.

I feel healed in some part of my heart, thanks for sharing such beautiful words.

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