I lost my cross today.
Icon on a golden chain
surrounded me for forty years.
It’s gone.
My fear is also missing.
An open feeling now rings my neck.
Symbol of identification
a statement, says I believe in the man
who was nailed to the wood.
My cross was nailed to me long ago.
In New Jersey, it’s just jewelry.
A family gift thrown over our heads
like a Hawaiian lei.
Does the symbol feel as light as flowers
or as heavy as the wood dragged up the hill?
Cross at my feet, I stood on one leg
bowing my back, balancing,
stretching, reaching for more.
Homage, union, counting my heartbeats,
feeling the drumbeat rhythm of my soul.
I forgot left it behind, came back it was gone.
Missing, vanished into thin air.
Someone else picked it up their cross to bear now.
Will it be as heavy as a tree or as light as a lei?
Measured in more than carats
I am lighter today.
Tonn Pastore
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