What of this mortal coil?

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The impermanence of this, our mortal coil.
Tempts us to view this life as everything, the be all and end all.
We regard these great achievements of mankind,
Scientific, architectural, artistic or literary,
As the pinnacle of human potential.
But what of the mind of our Creator?
What truly limitless capacity lies here?
The butterflies’ iridescent wing, stars flung precisely into space, the intricate human brain.
The light of day, the darkness of night, and all that lies between.
Is the work of one mind, one heart.
What then of this mortal coil,
If it is but a gateway to greater things beyond?

Kevin Turpin

Letting go

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photo at pixabay

Ashes to ashes,
Can I bear to let them go?
I know that I must

Horace, my loving canine friend,
They say all good things must come to an end.
Wherever you went, it was always the same,
With people drawn to you like moths to a flame.

Now your spirit flies free,
But your bones I can’t yet let go;
Ground down to white dust in a container by the door,
Lie cherished fragments that wait beside me as I sleep,
Until I feel ready to cast you into the wind
Like a cloud of cherry blossom,
Settling on the foreshore,
Washed away by the tide,
Imbibed into the saline bloodstream of Mother Earth,
Nurturing her as you nurtured me,
As you nurtured those you touched.

Kevin Turpin

Cave painting

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cave painting | homework for 10 may

I don’t know why I do this,
But something inside me needs to be expressed.
I don’t talk much.
I just feel, and see, and hear, and touch and smell.
So I make marks on the wall.
Marks that look like the things around me,
And express the things I feel inside.
Marks made from the juice of the berries I crushed,
Mixed with my blood.
I place my hand against the cold dry wall.
I fill my mouth with the warm, bitter tasting fluid,
And spit it at the back of my hand,
Until my hand and the wall are coated deep red.
Then I take my hand away,
And reveal the print of where it was.
This is me.
This is my mark.
And I was here, do you see?
I was here.
I was here.

Kevin Turpin

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Out of sight

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out of sight | photo at pexels

She was out of sight, but he could feel her, as if she were there with him. Countless times they’d watched sunsets together over the years. But now she was gone, too soon, too young.

A young couple walked hand in hand on the dunes, but he had to close his eyes tight shut, and turn his head away … it was too agonising to watch couples so obviously in love. He felt so alone, so painfully alone.

Warm lights emanating from that house … “those folk are so lucky, enjoying their happy evening in” he imagined, whilst he stood there, alone.

“Why did you go?!” His voice bellowed angrily and uncontrollably through gritted teeth, whilst hot tears erupted from his screwed up eyes, tumbled down unshaven cheeks, and soaked his ear lobes with their scalding salinity. A helpless, guttural moan rang out from the depths of his being … And then he just stood silently.

It was then that he felt it, the gentle touch of her finger lightly stroking his hair. It was her, he knew it, he could feel it, and she was signalling she was here, right here, with him.

And something deep inside told him that the sun would set, then rise again … and all would be well.

Kevin Turpin

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