I love the idea of identities,
but hate the nomenclature of names.
Names, stubborn in their own finitude
never seem to satisfy as description.
They are pricetags handled roughly by
the obese woman behind the
counter.
Rung up, given a value, bagged
without ceremony.
And when the job is done, she offers a verse.
Identity–much sooner forgotten,
transcends description.
At times, as static as a name,
but with potential for progress
be it in the mundanity of the positive
or the exhileration of negativity.
Identity is definition beyond words–
not so constrained by action or thoughts as
personality, or
as dreadfully uncontrollable as genetics.
Blessed with relativity
it is the “who” behind the why and how
where “when” and “what”
matter less than from which horizon the sun desires
to peek when it wakes.
It is perspective filtered through perspective;
a treasure undeserving of a
bill of sale.
Yet so easily sold
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
I love the idea of identities,
but hate the nomenclature of names.
Names, stubborn in their own finitude
never seem to satisfy as description.
They are pricetags handled roughly by
the obese woman behind the
counter.
Rung up, given a value, bagged
without ceremony.
And when the job is done, she offers a verse.
Identity–much sooner forgotten,
transcends description.
At times, as static as a name,
but with potential for progress
be it in the mundanity of the positive
or the exhileration of negativity.
Identity is definition beyond words–
not so constrained by action or thoughts as
personality, or
as dreadfully uncontrollable as genetics.
Blessed with relativity
it is the “who” behind the why and how
where “when” and “what”
matter less than from which horizon the sun desires
to peek when it wakes.
It is perspective filtered through perspective;
a treasure undeserving of a
bill of sale.
Yet so easily sold