Imprecise
Imperfect
Reminded
I am an organic being
Cradled in a manufactured world
And my notions of beauty
Have been filtered
By the means of manufacture
For every branch
A thousand leaves
For every fork
A thousand more
Just keep the faith
And carry on
I’ll find the way
Back to your heart
Then wonder why why why?
Can’t we find a way
To share our world today
But the years of consciousness
I could count
In just an afternoon
And my own years
Rattled off in seconds
In the vast pre-history
Of consciousness
This beauty unremarked
But do my remarks
Or those of others
Make the beauty so?
I remember
And I write
Words seeking time
In some future dream
When the Flanders torch
Shall not be passed
We will no longer ask
The young to die
For causes wrought
Upon the lie
Of righteousness
A time when poppies bloom
In their rightful spring
Not this remorseful
Autumnal rite
No longer red
No blood be spilled
But lovely white
Our peace fulfilled
Ambivalence
Trepidation
Uncertainty
Too much?
Too dark?
Too bleak?
For a bistro?
Until a voice says
“That is me, up there
On your wall.”
And the creatures
Which skittered there
Having barely left the sea
I think of a wave
And the littlest living things
Awash in the foaming ocean
Not so unlike
The littlest living things
Swishing over my feet in the surf
Sometimes
This body
Like a trophy
And I
Caught inside
Ponder on the things
This body has done
Beyond my ability
Beyond my creation
And I
Wonder I
At who am I
Whether this body is I
Or some other I
Pix to Words 