Thursday, December 5, 2013

Get the door

Why is it that poets feel 
among all the chosen ones 
the pain of the past 
and the sadness of future? 
Happiness they all concur 
is fleeting and Blake. 
It sings two songs 
in two tongues 
Of innocence and life. 

They look upon a door 
a very Kafkaesque one 
It's a drawing on the wall 
animated by imagination. 
They are filled with hope
that it'll open to let in
some meaning about the world. 
Soon, the door becomes a deity
and is offered words and words. 

What is left

What's left 
if love is cut to size? 
It takes the shape 
of a terrible poem. 
An uneasy 
silence between lines 
sharpens the arguments 
of why and why not.
Distance accumulates 
like the lines in a ramble. 
And moments seem to be 
in a tensed state of packing.
Preparing for a long journey.