I’m fascinated by the ancient ways our fragile, tender hearts learn to heal, twisting and reshaping through storms and ages like noble, gnarled bristlecone pines — that grief is both the bedrock binding our roots to the Earth, and the mountain lifting us toward the light of a dying star.
Always so special to be on the receiving end of one of your poems, Troy. I would like to imagine that—someday, when it comes my time to pass—like a dying star, I shall become a supernova. An explosion of beauty in the night sky that only my loved ones can take great comfort from for the rest of their days. Most likely it will be named: The Snowstorm Nebula.❄️
Those ancient ways
like cave paintings
daubed across our souls
Beautiful. Only by venturing into dark places can we ever truly see these special things.
That’s an excellent way of looking at it :)
Thank you for this gorgeous reminder that we are held and connected by something greater.
So much greater, and more grand.
Beautifully written and profound
Thank you, Kathleen. I hope you’re well.
You’re welcome and yes, I am well.
Beautiful poem
Thank you, Nancy. Sending love.
beautiful as always ❤️
🙏🏼
Always so special to be on the receiving end of one of your poems, Troy. I would like to imagine that—someday, when it comes my time to pass—like a dying star, I shall become a supernova. An explosion of beauty in the night sky that only my loved ones can take great comfort from for the rest of their days. Most likely it will be named: The Snowstorm Nebula.❄️