The thirteenth hour strikes a chord
bells and gongs tears and memories..
tragedy and loss.
It comes like a traffic accident,
the loss of a loved one, a senseless premeditated crime,
no one is ever prepared for that hour to chime.
In my darkest days at the end of humanity,
I sometimes fail to lift the curtain,
to see behind those most human eyes to find the divine.
All looks like murder, decay and calamity, rotting flesh,
madness creeps in tendrils spreading out in vines.
It feels like a final sprint on the last bend,
and Monday begins where
Friday tried to end.
Time is stuck in the fast lane
speeding away with us… with all of it.
It seems so hard to touch the gift, hear the lesson calling,
embrace the trial by fire, picture it as just another baby step,
while we crawl down the road to wisdom.
Even though I don’t see it much, I have compassion.
It was squeezed out of me like paste from Time’s tube,
daily, inviting me to be a witness to so much misery,
mixed into a symphony, with laughter, humor, children’s glee and death.
Too much drama and short on selflessness,
with violence and Nature’s sweet curds all rising to the top,
the bi- product of mixing it up and shaking it roughly.
We are like a rag in a dog’s jaw at the end of time,
and it’s hard to drink this chaotic potion of confusion.
The painfully sweet, the returning loss, the cocktail of humanity,
the sweet ‘n bitter order of mayhem….
The box of chocolates, light and dark, poisoned, and nutritious;
we really are allowed to choose which ones we ingest, you know.
No one stands over us, making us eat Everything!
Some get it right today, then get it wrong tomorrow.
Hard to say which day is better for learning,
or what will be useful to take with us,
as we stand in line at the exit.
Karima Hoisan
January 10, 2015
Costa Rica
Digital Rabbit Hole 