Tunnel Candle

Within a pitch-black tunnel shone a candle,
and you saw it and ran to it from far,
from feeling it would be a way to handle
the dark in which you took it as a star.
When reaching it, you found that it was little,
yet burned you nonetheless and left a scar,
and existential hope that had turned brittle,
shattered in the darkness, black as tar.
Now when you’re told of light or you glimpse one
you’re skeptical, dismissing it in doubt,
because of an impostor of the sun,
as if a seed that thinks that it can’t sprout,
believing there’s no sun, no warmth, no light,
just darkness, suffering, and pointless plight.

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Mario A. Pita

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Overlaying

Though truth be one, I’ve found it’s like the Earth
and looks so different based on where we’re standing,
our state of mind, our circumstance from birth,
and if there’s to be any understanding
we can’t presume that our view has more worth,
remembering that truth, like Earth, is round,
with all from canyon lows to peaks of mirth,
ethereal as sky and firm as ground.
Yet still we overlay our view on others,
believing, like a diamond, it will glisten,
not seeing it may be a stone that smothers
those to whom we never really listen.
Let’s listen to each other―open minded―
so by our brilliant views we won’t be blinded.

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Mario A. Pita

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Rooted

An old tree’s stuck where it has grown, and I
feel stuck as well though in a different way
than it who reaches slowly toward the sky,
from just one place to drink each solar ray.
I’m stuck not in a geographic sense
but with my limits of biology;
not stopped from moving by my roots or fence,
but stuck with who I am, afflicting me.
I don’t think trees resent their being stuck
nor long for what they lack—mobility.
Like theirs, perhaps my stuckness doesn’t suck,
if it’s of rootedness, and I am free
to grow toward light, though I am rooted too,
by way of things I say, or sing, or do.

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Mario A. Pita

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Chocolate

As I ate chocolate late one afternoon,
with sunlight streaming in the living room,
it dawned on me as I lifted my spoon
the ice cream sweetness I could then consume
had been made possible since energy
from sunlight had converted, turning sweet,
as sugars in life’s far-flung greenery,
translating for all life the light and heat.
I felt my life as sponsored by the sun
and plants that turned its fusion into food.
My sense of separateness that weighed a ton
grew lighter, like a leaf, as did my mood.
A cup of chocolate did for me this favor:
in it, I tasted oneness—sweetest flavor.

chocolate ice cream

Photo: chocolate ice cream, Oxygen_JP

Mario A. Pita

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Eternity Prerequisite

Imagine if a rose knew it would die
and therefore didn’t bother to unfurl
because it couldn’t see a reason why
to blossom from its bud-wrapped little curl
if its life was a temporary show,
perhaps a pitstop for a passing bee,
a pollen dwelling for new seeds to sow,
whereas it wished to live eternally.
Self-centered in this way I’ve often been,
as if life’s meaning hinged on my survival
forever in the form that I was in,
restored by God in posthumous revival.
But may I be life-centered like a blossom,
for life itself, mysterious and awesome.

Pink Precipitation

Pink Precipitation, Peter Whitfield

Mario A. Pita

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Riveting

At fifty-five, no aging sage, still fool,
I strive to learn each day a thing that’s new,
though it’s been decades since I went to school,
I’ve learned much more in life than all I knew,
for learning is a thrill and not a rule,
enforced as something that I have to do,
so that for me it’s not a drain but cool―
enriching, entertaining, awesome too.
Today I learned to use a power tool,
to drive in for a wall a rivet screw;
a riveting experience, a jewel
as part of volunteer construction crew.*
To learning of new things, I won’t say no:
it’s always infinite―what I don’t know.

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* with Habitat for Humanity

Mario A. Pita

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Homecoming

for Amy

Like someone who has been away from home
feels happy at the thought they’ll soon arrive,
after so much time they had to roam
on rough terrain where it was hard to drive,
that’s how I feel when going to see you,
as if you were my heart’s home, so I strive
to tell of what it’s like so you feel too
my sense of happiness that you’re alive.
You’ve listened to my tales of rough terrain,
but on the road that leads to you I’ve felt
the jagged troubles cluttering my brain
as icicles that in your sunlight melt.
Through darkness-riddled roads I’ve traveled on,
you’ve lit my mind’s horizon, like a dawn.

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Mario A. Pita

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