Query:
Why are you so sad? Your feelings are hurt.Reply:
Query:
All is not bleak. Our situation is not so bad.Reply:
Query:
Outside this window is the topless skyand birds that rejoice as they lift and dive.
And there are trees that do not complain
though a few of their roots may rot.
Nor do they reject the birds as they alight
for fear of nameless inadequacies.
And the flowers, defenseless to the world,
sing serenades even as they die
in one short season on their stems.
Do you hear me?
Reply:
Query:
The sun has set for you, and on me too,as I have grown weak in the shade of your sorrow.
We were one, once — living, loving and reaching;
and though our hands returned empty often,
we knew to think nothing of it, and reached again.
Perhaps in some moment barely noticed,
our hands were empty one too many times;
perhaps we disagreed, and then, while I looked up,
you paused and dwelt on vacancy.
Whatever the cause, you abandoned me,
and we have been orphans ever since,
me from serenity and you from love.
Reply:
Query:
I am your better half, as you are mine;like sugar from a pear, uncoupled we
are incomplete. More than once your cries
of caution saved my impetuous life;
now, cautious cries are all that echo down
the long corridors of our retreat.
Yes, we have been forsaken in our time,
and age has crept upon us like a frost.
We sought the center of the stage, and failed,
and our pride was lost.
Our loneliness was more than we could bear.
It never was our fate to be beloved.
Everything has reasons when it comes,
or doesn’t come, or stays, or fades away;
the logic of the world is hard to love.
But now you shout and run about, demanding
praise with anger on your face, insisting on
respect you haven’t won. You take us to
a frightening place to buy a gun. To whom
are these bullets to be given? To you?
To me? To those you think have spurned us?
There ís a better way. Our empty glass
may yet have depths for us to plumb.
Reply:
Query:
Ín this dark valley, where our soul has fled,with only our words and sad music,
tired, at the edge of a black abyss bent
(beckoning to us, its new lover, to succumb,
with long, cold fingers drawing us in),
I cry out to you and pray you hear;
for as your hurt and fear have turned to ice,
imprisoning us, I am still aflame
with lust and pride — whether good or bad —
and do not want to die. If you will hear me
only once, the negligent sun will rise
and melt your rigid fury into tears.
You will find me waiting at your side,
whispering the words of faith and risk,
the only words of meaning in this world.
And the lovers that we are — the two halves
that are one — will once again be whole,
and we will reach together for our life.
Reply:
~end~
I started this poem about thirty years ago but didn't have the insight to finish it.
I have a tendency to write in clichés. The question is, are they fatal in this poem?
In case it isn't obvious, the speaker in this poem is struggling with his dark side, which is threatening to overwhelm him.
)so have changed it now. I'll probably see you at TW sometime.