Mortal Covenant

By Harry Sinclair

Image taken by KoolShooters from Pexels

Suppress and subdue,
bury deep and long remember
there’s nothing for you,
so here’s the deal:
a simple agreement,
put on this mask and
just don’t feel.

Make this stay
a little easier.
Take this deal,
leave your bags
they’re too heavy anyway
and check out now,
then when you leave us
permanently
you’ll be already
ready to go.

The dotted line
held my name
I knew the deal
read the terms
and checked out.
A simple agreement,
emptiness is easier,
nothingness requires no work.

Sealed tight
in black and white
and all stayed the same
for quite some time.
That simple agreement
made it all
so much easier.
What more was there to decide
with this simple agreement.
What more was there to feel,
with no feeling at all.

Yet in your hands
that simple agreement
seemed so fickle
so futile
so… difficult.
It ripped in two,
tore so effortlessly
in your delicate hands.
The centre separated
and felt again.

One holding more
became two feeling all.
One once hiding all
piece by piece
accepting some skewed
bigger picture
a simple agreement
suddenly broken.
One once holding all
suddenly vulnerable.

And there they were
back they came
unwanted by the host
but invited by the guest.
A slurry of strange
and serious and more so
not so serious
returned and overwhelmed.

How a Christian-born
born again
feels the light’s warmth
wash over him.
How a mother’s breath
returns when her soldier-son
does the same.
How a beggar's head rises
in surprise to meet
another’s eyes.

You, the giving sun
growing life in the
deepest, darkest soil.
You, the sunflower
by my side turning
your face to mine.
You, my Goddess,
the deity gracing
this life (let alone mine)
with yours (your bountiful self)
You, are my life.

© Harry R. Sinclair 2025.

*Originally published on Medium.