C.C. Arshagra

Ode to Jack Powers

I love imperfections’ gift and cry
when a man gives all his soul’s questions
Away to the voices of being

And born to the air with others we share
And dare the exposure of self worth’s call
And the wind of passage falls upon the all so mortal stage

Where ‘self’ (our ID) becomes the shadows we at height impart
In light of humility’s shine from our tears’ courageous smile
Our endings are not for naught as we go into the sacred garden’s die

As we transcend the keep of our wears
Hold nothing that was not first fleshed by some external giving
Build no pyramids of success over others to stratify death

I love when this living gratitude glows
And leaves undeniable embers in a myriad of hearts
Wherein to receive is the prize of being … and so we read our souls aloud

And so the gratitude is but a chest of treasures
Opened
By one man’s dream