John Herlihy
-- Sadness Lies at the Heart of Things --
John Herlihy
Sadness inevitably lies at
the heart of things,
The transitoriness, change
and passing life brings.
Things born, mature, wither,
never stay the same,
Out of the dewy mist a wind,
as silence holds reign.
The way of the world,
evanescent, inscrutable,
The way of the soul,
mysterious, immutable.
Consider the sadness at the
heart of things,
The downfall, the missing,
the loss of one’s wings.
The wayward son wandered off
never to return,
Once a gurgling infant, now
smoldering ember to burn.
A passion, a wish, a dream
never allowed to bloom,
Now written on destiny’s
scroll as feelings of doom.
Despite the sadness found at
the heart of things,
A majesty, a beauty, the bird
of life soaring on wings.
As age creeps up, the vision
of the eyes begins to blur,
As wisdom takes hold, an
inner vision begins to stir.
We live our lives without
knowing our rightful place,
Ever searching, ever seeking,
to find the one true Face.
Although sorrow may lie at
the heart of things,
Let us refuse to succumb to
contradictory feelings.
The cocoon of love pierced by
the spear of hate,
Courage makes us bold while
cowardice our fears await.
Safe and secure feels fine,
yet linger our insecurities,
Certainty has its moment,
close behind lie uncertainties.
Think of the sadness that
lies at the heart of things,
Bees sip the flower’s nectar
with a weapon that stings.
Blushing petals timidly open
amid the thorns of the rose,
Warmth of summer days ravaged
by the icy winter snows.
The emerald leaves of the
mighty oak wither and die,
The wind sings its own
praises before uttering a sigh.
Inside the sadness we find at
the heart of things,
Only one drop of many
emotions that life wrings.
Sad emotions spill forth like
a flooded cornucopia,
No one ever said that we
would be living in utopia.
Much of life touched by
sadness that makes us wise,
Sadness passes thru a sieve
to make ready a surprise.
Wear the crown of sorrow, yet
remember happier things,
Even a king cannot escape the
sorrow that this life brings.
The price of our sorrows
found in the joy for which we pay,
Just as the ghosts of night
find no traction in the light of day.
Whenever sorrow shows its
face, relief is never far behind,
Our moods are fickle, even
our sorrows will flee the mind.
Only a poet finds words for a
sorrow that does not speak,
Like the night, sorrow bids
farewell, the new day to greet.
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Copyright © John Herlihy
Sunday 1
January 2023
