Monday, September 26, 2011

A Poem for the High Holy Days

This is the 2nd in a series of high holy days poems. I hope you read it and consider this poem in your thoughts of reflection as we approach Rosh Hashana this Wednesday evening.
L'shana Tova Tikatevu
May you  be written in the book of life.

Chapter Two Ecclesiastes
I am all the ages of human kind
Voices and wisdom of the years
Speaking through the languages of man
I once inhabited
And have since forgotten
Because what I only
See is what I am
And that dear friend
Is the folly of my life.

Was work my wisdom or
The jobs I had
The friends who
Surrounded me
And their rancor
Or my own indulgence
Which set me on a crooked pathway:
At times lost
To the truth
And to what end?

Now I search for the smallest things
The morsels of insight
I desire and no longer
Shall I wear the crown
A diadem of a good name
Or the garments of pride
Which glistened with the
Wisdom I thought was mine.

My bones ache
And I walk haltingly
My eyes dim
And I hear sparingly
My back is curved
And I stretch hesitantly
But my appetite
For truth does not abate
For I have learned
That the service
I perform next
To the altar of confession
Has become the sacrifice
I offer to the Holy One
And the work of my conscience
Is my day of atonement
Where the fast of my soul
Restores the years I once lost

Which I gather in the harvest of this lifetime.

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