Metaphysical Poem

Soul Convention

by Silvia Hartmann

Snow is falling softly,
insistently...

At first it seemed
as though it might surrender
to the hurried steps
of frozen feet
and churning wooden wheels

But it simply
did not stop.

Night came, and from the
blue black sky
the moth flakes fell and fluttered
endlessly.

So we retreated;
and it really wasn’t
so much a defeat as a submission,
we took the opportunity
to say, there’s nothing we can do,
there’s nowhere left to be,
but here.

We lit a fire
and assembled in the
wooden sanctuary hall.

Outside, the snow fell
and in truth,
we were so glad
it had arrived
to save us from ourselves.

One by one, we found our place
and settled down
and listened to each other’s breathing
and beyond that,
silence white and living night,
which soothed us –
one by one, our burdens fell away
and light as snow did we become,
and drifted, danced and swirled,
a mirror soul convention,
happening just as it
should.

© Silvia Hartmann 2004