Not sure if I ever posted this here, but if not, here we go:
For what were they seeking
When first drawn to the other tree?
"To know," they said,
But now we cannot see.
"Our dreams a mystery
And more dreamed we be than dream."
"But better to know," said one, "than never be."
Great poetry does not attract people who love poetry.
It attracts people who long to ride atop
The crest of the Great Wave of Truth,
To lace their fingers in its mane
And let it carry them naked, bareback and frightened
To where they know not.
And rarely is it sought by such
But must sneak its way into their lives from unexpected sources:
A movie, an advertisement, a song.
And then it haunts them ever after with the thought
That they have seen, have heard, the Truth once spoken
And can never again pretend that they have not.
I cannot shed old things
By looking back at dark mistakes.
And yet, they tug at my coat
And beg to be understood
As if I could figure them out.
But I can't figure them out.
They make no sense.
And when I try,
Dark clouds gather
And if I am not careful,
They portend doom from which
My mind must grapple to escape.
And so I don't look back.
I look forward to the bright light
Of all that He has promised.
I step into the sunshine,
And then into the sun,
Hot and scorching.
And it burns away the old.
But I do not notice
Accept in retrospect
That old things have fallen away.
Life is so fleeting, so fragile, so beautiful.
You can't help but go out and experience it
To spite the risks.
And the wind races past as the sun sets
And whips her braid behind,
So beautiful, so fleeting, so fast.
And the world is tired, and old,
And she races across her path
As the sun sets, so beautiful.
And I'll forget that she might die in an instant
For the sake of knowing life so close.