Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.

By Stephen McGuinness

I feel my footsteps
Count down days
With chimed strokes
Resonant, reflective.
A sinus wave hearbeat
Synchronous vibrations of
Train beaten whispered
Words on tracks.
Calm, a balm, a salve.

Chantors: ancient haunting
Mantras, dripped holy oils.
Smoke in tendrils, lifting,
Rising: one, two, three,
Expectant tension then
Reassuring: four, exhale
To begin once more.

Repetition, confirmation, prediction.
We seek out rhythm,
Pattern, distraction in all we do.
For fear of death, of dark places,
Of chaos, of silence. Terror.
The drawing night, the unknown,
The unknowable. The truth.

via Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.

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