“The Afterlife” by Teleita Alusa
winter is the season of age
fourth and final in sequence
as life pulls away from the sun
blood runs sluggish from cold
footsteps slowed by the snow
the weight of precipitous air
bends the body to stooping
ordeal in each essay of motion
resisted by forces of time
cloudy ambient gray settles
into the eyes seeking signs
through the blustery mists
that a nearing warm dawn
brings new life-after-death
From my book Bohemian Scents
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
rejuvenatement - not retirement
Poesy plus Polemics 
I could feel the weight of age as I moved through your words. But the ending was beautifully wrapped with warmth. I love this poem 💖
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sincere thanks for your comment
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Your poem describes me all too well this morning Paul… but it has brought new light to my old tired eyes… Thank you
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much appreciated, michael
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Grace wrapped in the crepe paper of reality . . .
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so many wrinkles in time
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