Wednesday, August 1, 2012

The Look of Sun Through Clouds

The past has become not only meaningless but boring,
All that is left is grief, of its endless heavy stirring;
To let something go when there's so much that I loved to replay,
Like feeling that pang for the destitute, as they fall away.

A birth that enters in grey - without a name, without a home
To go to, no memory of the way things should have been,
But still it goes forward in knowing...we follow, who don't know,
The ones who once thought we knew, through lessons repeated,
Traumas recounted - a bird that has faded away, now seen
In the youngest eyes, as clear as the widening sky.

4 comments:

Rusty Kjarvik said...

well-enjoying your last four posts, exceptional material here, reading your work is a breath of rejuvenating air, cool to the tongue and warm to the gut, you intellectual energy is contagious...and as always I am humbled by your ability to explicate and interpret verse while translating it into educable prose for the widest readership possible, making good literature available to as many as would seek it is a true passion worth the risk of what sometimes seems terminal patience, though in your breadth of poetic in-sight, there is a mutuality, that we are both patients of the terminal inexplicability through which verse extrapolates with kind intensity, and with this I revert to Ella Fitzgerald, "it isn't where you came from, it's where you're going that counts." Then, go! poet, so we may together dash the artifice of history and see the now to our bettering...

(as always, your presence on my sight is so thoroughly appreciated! wish we could converse over coffee! be well friend.)

the walking man said...

I know very little of the past only that there were some wrongs in I can change today and some rights to it I can continue to live with. Mostly though the past yells forward with ambivalence.

Jack said...

That objectivity, that lack of "should have been," eludes many, I think.

It's interesting to read a double-meaning of "boring" in the first line.

James Owens said...

that coming to rest on "the widening sky" ... in the end, perhaps we relinquish all illusion of understanding the mysteries and spend some time contemplating clouds

i think of auden's Roman Wall Blues:

When I am a veteran with only one eye.
I shall do nothing but look at the sky.