Apr 2022
I am an ostrich, hiding deep within myself,
My head submerged in murky moods,
Screaming in a vacuum.
No, not a vacuum, but a sound-proof room,
With walls of ten-foot stone,
A fortress,
Clammy, cold and, dimly lit,
That admits no sound,
But the monotonous percussion,
Of a heart that knows the one eternal truth:
We are born dying,
And every breath that we take,
Every beat of our heart,
Brings us one step closer,
To the grave.
It is easy to forget a world exists outside,
My diminutive cell when my teeth chatter,
Not from the absence of warmth,
But from the absence of meaning.
Perspective, perspective, perspective,
Echoes through my fruitless cell.
I am a foolish,
Ugly bird,
Cowardly bird,
But needlessly.
I heard a song today, a soothing melody,
Sung by an angel dressed in woman's clothes;
Oh, sing again, dear love, I had
Almost forgotten your sweet voice!
My head submerged in murky moods,
Screaming in a vacuum.
No, not a vacuum, but a sound-proof room,
With walls of ten-foot stone,
A fortress,
Clammy, cold and, dimly lit,
That admits no sound,
But the monotonous percussion,
Of a heart that knows the one eternal truth:
We are born dying,
And every breath that we take,
Every beat of our heart,
Brings us one step closer,
To the grave.
It is easy to forget a world exists outside,
My diminutive cell when my teeth chatter,
Not from the absence of warmth,
But from the absence of meaning.
Perspective, perspective, perspective,
Echoes through my fruitless cell.
I am a foolish,
Ugly bird,
Cowardly bird,
But needlessly.
I heard a song today, a soothing melody,
Sung by an angel dressed in woman's clothes;
Oh, sing again, dear love, I had
Almost forgotten your sweet voice!
This is one of my early poems that links in a vital albeit indirect way to one of my early short stories, Eternal Quest. We are too often so wrapped up in ourselves that we forget to live. We can pursue life-lomng Quixotic quests looking for love, truth, enlightenment in all the wrong places when all may be closer to hand than we realize until it is too late. I was in my late teens when I wrote one of my early and still favorite short stories, Eternal Quest, and not much older when I penned the above poem. Both are prescient and, alas, not instructive enough for the young old man that wrote them. If you would like to read Eternal Quest, I am making it available for free download until April 25 but only at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/181305
