Bite at the rhythm of trifled distress
Chew humbly and honestly in its stress,
Hold your arms wide and embrace the mess,
Allow it to burn and soothe your ruined chest.
The songs of sorrow equal those of joy,
One ear pays homage, the other plays coy.
Words and thoughts know very well the feelings they deploy,
These sweet tears and tiresome smiles are their cold jest.
An exchange of ‘ands’ and ‘ifs’ becomes the repetition,
Next is the taste of our very own hate’s sedition.
Breathe in soothingly the ‘joie de vivre’ of thoughtful distinction,
And like a bird, build your life, your wife and your nest.
In anticipation await the full-stop that is death,
So that the nowhere-to-run, becomes the running-towards with the last breath.
incognitio
Babaloo Reinhardt said,
June 16, 2008 at 10:27 pm
I really like the 3rd line. I have a special affection for the word ‘mess’ and in this context it is simply and perfectly placed.
incognitio said,
June 16, 2008 at 10:30 pm
Mess can describe so much, that for a poet it’s a benign word — I likewise admire it; thank you for the comment of support.
joyfulpraisegirl said,
June 20, 2008 at 8:34 pm
I came upon this randomly, but I really enjoyed this. Your poem tells a story and you depicted it beautifully. The ending line is my favorite part. I always imagine life as a race to be run, and where it ends everyone knows..but the journey between is what it came down to. Lovely.
incognitio said,
June 20, 2008 at 9:54 pm
Thank you, I really appreciate your comment. I had a very similar idea to what you read from it - we run and run until there’s nowhere else to run, we can’t run away from the inevitable even though we spend our whole life trying; so what we do in the end is just give in and run towards it, with the last breath we have left. Our life then becomes as you say a journey, of what you do to run away from the inevitable, that journey becomes everything, the running becomes all of one’s life content.