 3 Jun 2004 @ 09:10, by Scotty
(the pic is called Jump for Joy by Lisa Keaney)
Funny - but this poem made me think of how we react to things in our lives ! Things that do not really have anything to do with us - and yet - we grasp them - we claim them as ours - we cling to them as though our life depended on them - we just can't let go .. can't let go of the insults the hurt the memories .. the pain !
We hold it to our hearts and play it over and over and over again - like a record stuck in the groove ...
he said - - -
she said - - -
over and over .. again and again !
What is it that prevents us from moving on - forwards - letting go of the pain and simply living in the now !
What is this illusion that we fabricate for ourselves - this illusion that keeps us prisoner in our comfort zone !
If sometimes we could only call to mind the simple fact that none of these illusions will be important ten years from now - because - Now is all we have !
Why waste it!
Live Now - Live Passionately !
This poem is not addressed to you.
You may come into it briefly,
But no one will find you here, no one.
You will have changed before the poem will.
Even while you sit there, unmovable,
You have begun to vanish. And it does no matter.
The poem will go on without you.
It has the spurious glamor of certain voids.
It is not sad, really, only empty.
Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.
It prefers to remember nothing.
Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.
Your type of beauty has no place here.
Night is the sky over this poem.
It is too black for stars.
And do not look for any illumination.
You neither can nor should understand what it means.
Listen, it comes with out guitar,
Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.
And there is nothing in it to comfort you.
Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over soon.
You will forge the poem, but not before
It has forgotten you. And it does not matter.
It has been most beautiful in its erasures.
O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!
Nor is one silence equal to another.
And it does not matter what you think.
This poem is not addressed to you.
(Donald Justice)
Letting Go of Uncontrollables and Unchangeables ... [link]
The Tool Box [link]
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