Asceticism

Asceticism

Fog

Morning

Thick and cold

November gray

Renunciation

That’s a difficult word,

One that is not often heard;

Lack of things means you’ve not prospered,

That abundance has been deferred.

Perhaps some tragedy has occurred.

There must be some kind of explanation;

An ongoing rationalization

For a psychological repression?

That it’s attractive is beyond conception,

It can’t be voluntary renunciation.

There is beauty in the sight of a leafless tree,

A distant solo flute’s exquisite melody,

In a room a single book that is often read,

A few words overheard that a stranger once said,

A walk along the beach when the ocean is calm,

The transcendental presence that glows in a Psalm

That opens a door that allows us to perceive

Waves of vast spaciousness from a limitless sea.