I Have Become Mortal At Last Poem by r james sterzinger

I go this morning to walk
The sun an orange globe
It bullies the night's clouds
Adds this day, to its count of days.
The morning's air: cool
A whisper of a breeze
Bows the branches in the trees
I would like to think they are waiving at me.
But I know better, much better
No longer guided by God,
Or sprites, or spirits,
Guided by logic, by science. now.
There is no room for symbolism
For Saints, only for the me of me
The idea of me as it,
Makes us all the more alone, desperate.
I need to see a doctor she says
'You need to see what is going on'
The pain in the guts, the tingling
In the fingers and toes isn't miraculous.
I have come to this point in life
Where one counts the days
The years have taken care of themselves
They have washed away the truths of memory.
Sealed in the middle of every stone
Is the heart of the matter
Every simple thing is elegant bones
And like the rock, someday, I be willed into particle.