To forgive is to release.
To let go. To be held.
To arrive at where we want to end,
we grasp for it. Without knowing
how to hold our own hand,
we cling to it. Where we came from,
Jesus and Buddha are there.
Let he who seeks remain always seeking
until he finds, and when he finds he will be troubled
by the face of who he longs for. Returning to dust.
Engulfed in sleep. Like grass renewing itself. The
darkness conceals him, as a mother’s womb.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Havana Times, South China Morning Post, The Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.