A Meaningful Story

Our stories disappear
And fade into quick oblivion
Leaving us with no meaning in our lives
Only to be reborn, reread and rewritten
By those who sense a resurgence of meaning
When they string together
Through strands of time
The charms of little nothings.

The problem is:
Nobody asks them
For whom stories have faded
What is it that keeps them from dying?
What remains in feeling, in essence, in residue?
Do they now understand reality?
And if they do…
Do they think it’s a meaningful story?

Before You Entered, After You Left

I’ve seen events,
momentous as they were
fade away

I’ve been gripped by
affections, I thought were
for keeps

I’ve lost so much
to time, but I haven’t
lost presence…

I now understand
that the gifts
of time

Are not things
that are born and that
can die

But are those
that remain, when all
has left.

Time can’t take away
what it hasn’t
brought in.

See-through

I’ve come to see
That your kind words
Don’t stick
Neither do your opinions
Cause anything more than a fleeting awkwardness.
My deliverance from smallness-
(Sorry to disappoint you)-
Needs a more sophisticated design.

In a world of sound and fury
I wonder why silence exists
Why does it stay
And not leave?
Even when it is abused,
Ignored: not acknowledged
I befriend silence
And Understanding begins to claim its space within.

Now an expanse
It provides me with distance
And light
That can penetrate through smallness
And darkness
Your little schemes
Are not as tight in weave
As you think them to be.

Your body may be dressed
In fancy styles tailored to fit
But you are clueless about
The size and shape of your mind
Or its persona that challenges
Your ideas of who you are
Your little pretensions
Don’t cover it at all

You stand exposed
Your words are see-through.

Now that It’s Over

So much is over…
Who swallowed those capsules of time?
And if it’s over and gone
Why does memory live…?
…like a persistent ache
…like a question left unanswered…

Is my change true and final?
If I wasn’t that
Then am I certain I’m this?
Memory is seductive
It beckons me to return
A smoke that suggests a hidden flame…

I stand somewhere in between
What was and what seems to be
Baffled that neither is my ground
I’m wondering then…
What is my truth?
And what skin will cling to me

When this moment too, is over.

Remembrance Is Not Memory

Unaware of my truth

I created memories

Memories of me

Memories of you

Memories of sorrow…

And now

These memories torment me

They remind me of

Why it’s safer

To collapse, to suffer, to hide…

I watch a bird

Fearlessly stand on the ledge

Confident

That the chance of falling

Poses no threat.

I wonder…

Just for a moment

What must I remember

To find my wings when

I’m standing on a ledge overlooking memory.

Sunset

The light that had pervaded

the experiences

That I have come to describe

as my life

Had gathered itself into

a saffron orb

And now it stood before me-

all wise and glowing

All earthly latitudes

and longitudes

Mapping it in a poetic alignment

with the strains of my heart.

 

What does all this mean

I wondered…

Why is my life on a sprint

Appearing…disappearing…?

Why does my day begin

and end?

Why do our lives begin

and end?

What dawns and

What sets?

What exactly is gained and

what precisely is lost?

 

It’s in space and light that

my days unfold

And the stories that have

begun today

Will advance in plot

and complexity

Over days infused with

new light

But will I know

any better?

If not a day like this

What will a day of wisdom look like?

 

And now I’m thinking of

new questions

Does light have hope?

Do I disappoint her?

Does she expect me to meet her

with less indifference?

In what light must I see-

the light of the day?

Now that the day stands condensed before me

as the setting sun

I’m wondering about all the darkness

It has left me with…

 

Light will merge into light

It’s darkness that will live yet again

For a life-span of a night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Opportunity

The everyday as I  see it

Is a mask, a disguise

A mock constitution

Of half-truths and lies

 

You think you stand with a crowd

But you’re actually alone

The voices you hear around you

Are really your own.

 

Then why do I experience

The same world and the same you?

Why do I bring old eyes

To see the new?

 

We are in a sense blind

Till we begin to see

We’re born enslaved

And we must set ourselves free

 

How will such a freedom

Come to be mine?

Through the thick walls of my being

How will light come to shine?

 

Why does my heart, I wonder

Never utter a word?

Why does it suffer in silence

Never to be heard?

 

The mind is a vacuum

I’ve mistaken for a missing part

It sucks in fear and hate

That silences the heart

 

The heart will speak

When one is all of you

And not till you stand fractured

Dismembered into two

 

How do I join together

Parts of my being?

How do I accept your half-truths

As flaws in my seeing?

 

Where do I begin

Where do I make a start?

How do I silence my mind

And listen to my heart?

 

The heart I understand

Is the mind of a higher face

Its power of feeling

Removes all distance and space

 

Let me not just hear your bitter words

But of them also make sense

To the kaleidoscope of the everyday

Let me bring a whole new lens

 

The everyday is not

A displaced fragment of eternity

It’s what you are and

What you have the opportunity to be.