Sunday, September 9, 2012

Summer Late and Loud

Before it's gone
birds shriek,
crickets scream,
grasses shiver,
the leaves wave farewell.

I am not making this human,
I am failing, in fact, to reach out of my skin,
to see how near to us they are,
to use my mind for any purpose but illusion.

I split like a knife the tremulous print,

on one side: the fear
that expression is stopped like the flesh with death

on the other: the last opportunity
to speak to a world that is love.

But the truth is
it's a harmonization

the one thing we humans can't grasp.


the walking man said...

I like your stated purpose of not humanizing the seasons change and then humanizing it with the knife.

Very nice duality.

William A. Sigler said...

Yeah, Mark, I'm not sure I got across what I was trying to do there. The idea is nature is more like us than we are able to appreciate, but we can't see it for what it is because we apply mental distinctions and dualities to it. Those are illusory because they deny the purpose, why things happen.

Hannah Stephenson said...

Right. It's not Self and could all be of the same stuff.

This poem is full of surprises...and I completely got your purpose, I think.