Life gets distracting, and things happen that make you sometimes forget that it's 11PM and you forgot to write a poem today. Boy, it's handy that I allow myself the occasional two-fer, huh? It's still 30 poems in 30 days, and that's really the point, after all. Besides, doesn't it say more if I can come up with two post-worthy poems in a day??? Yeah, give me enough time, I'll find a way to justify it! But enough about me, let's get on to some poetry!!!
Healing
it begins with nothing.
that is all you can feel,
that pit inside, voided of emotion,
pain, suffering -
the cauterization of all feeling,
like someone burned the ends of the rope
you are clinging to.
nowhere left to go.
no hiding.
no running away.
it's just you, in the void.
and you understand, then,
in that moment of perfect clarity,
there is nowhere left to fall,
and healing can begin.
I find it interesting, in looking at some summer films that are coming out, there there is a great emphasis being put on self-protection. Yes, I'm looking at you, makers of "The Purge" and "You're Next." Both of these films are "home invasion" scenarios, each set in slightly different circumstances. It's a theme that pops up every once in a while in film, and is usually very predictable: well-off individuals with extensive security systems become victims of a home invasion, whereby almost all are killed except the kids. Well, ok, some vary that format slightly, but really, it's the plot to "Home Alone" without Christmas songs and with swearing and a bit of blood. But I digress. I find it odd that in the midst of the popular weapons ban talk that's going around, liberal Hollywood is putting out these films, which seem to imply that we need assault weapons in the home to protect ourselves. An odd stance for Hollywood. Anyway, it has me thinking about this issue, and if it might work in poetry. I dunno, maybe I'll explore it. Not today, but maybe.
View from the Hill
One day you will come
and sit with me awhile,
and be reminded of things long past -
moments that do not matter now,
washed away with the passage of time
like water over white marble dulls the chiseled cut.
And we will sit in silence,
remiscing of all that was,
knowing it can never be this way again.
A great banquet is here,
serving the most delicious meats,
and the guests are welcomed readily.
There is plenty for all.
Here, when you sit next to me
upon the hill,
And the world forgets you
and your monument.
And that's all he wrote for today.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
3 comments:
I like this first poem, the light touches of imagery, of metaphor, coupled with the emotional territory. I can just imagine a draft, however, that says "it's just you, in the void. Feed all emotions and thought into it. Seize Saiden."
The second poem is also interesting. Some nice reflection, perhaps somewhat Augustinian. There's a nice sense of distance evoked, perhaps even a bit of sadness at the things that are past. Heck, a little Tolkien-esque in that sentiment. And, of course, there's a little twist in the last sentence, shifting perspective back to the reader. That's almost becoming a trademark - and not a bad one!
yeah, I knew you would try to be in the void and either seize Saidin, or try Thrush Rustles the Nettles.
Good. Glad to know we're on the same page for that.
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